


Through the black and the blue (through life and to death)

by sechenitis



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: A Very Insistent Magical Beast, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fantasy Kingdoms, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Prince Oh Sehun, Royal Politics, magical being jongdae, many mentions to deities, she's cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 111,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28248726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sechenitis/pseuds/sechenitis
Summary: The last time Sehun sees his mother, the Queen, she is sitting straight in her bed, her body framed by delicate pillows and her brows furrowed.After that, Sehun is left alone to try and make sense of everything.Well... almost alone.He still has the Royal Beast Rider by his side. And Jongdae seems quite intent on staying there.
Relationships: Kim Jongdae | Chen & Oh Sehun
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15
Collections: Calm Before The Storm FicFest Round 1





	1. Stone hard

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> First of all, I would like to thank the mods for their kindness and understanding. I was stressed and honestly a big mess throughout this fest, but they have held my hand and wow, look at us now? who would have thought? not me!
> 
> The fic is incomplete, which is a shame, I know. I tried really hard, but it kept growing and I just. Couldn't win against it. I decided to post what I had rather than to drop, and I hope you will all give it a chance. I am already working hard on the future chapter and I expect the fic to be completed in less than a month!  
> (god, i kinda suck don't i)
> 
> For the curious minds, you will find a map of the Alliance [here](https://i43.servimg.com/u/f43/14/26/79/79/map-110.jpg). I will credit the amazing artist as soon as my secret identity is revealed!

The last time Sehun sees his mother, she is sitting straight in her bed, her body framed by delicate pillows and her brows furrowed. Her usual swarm of servants is aligned on the right side of her bed, most of them shooting a few dark looks at the Queen, obviously upset at her refusal to be pampered. They’ve been serving her for many, many years - growing up with her helped them learn how to juggle their own societal role in the court and the strong friendship they created together. It’s ancient rules that have them standing still instead of fussing over the wounded Queen, doing as she, herself, demanded, but it’s years of friendship that have allowed those gloomy glares sent her way. 

Sehun’s mother pretends she doesn’t notice. 

“Maybe you should let them…” Sehun starts, but is immediately shut down by one of his mother’s fiercest looks. 

“I am alright,” she says – she’s been saying it again and again ever since Sehun barged into her room. “It was just a fall, nothing serious. I’ll have a few bruises and I’ll be back on my horse in no time.” The Queen glances at her servants. “They’re just old ladies itching to make use of their maternal instincts.” 

One of the said old women from his mother’s personal guard - _Qing_ \- scoffs. Sehun’s mother smiles at the emptiness above Sehun’s right shoulder, as though willingly showing her amusement all the while refusing to meet her friend’s eyes. 

“You are of the same age,” Sehun says. 

Which earns him another burning look, but it does not make his words any less true. He had never really paid attention, he realises, but there are white streaks clashing against the darkness of his mother’s guards’ hair. Those same white strands are now framing the Queen’s face, some of them hidden under the intricate twists her hairstyle consists of, but most of them in plain view. She has not been trying to hide her age, it’s just that it’s been incredibly easy to forget. The Queen follows a strict schedule, still rides her mare every day and takes part in every hunt party her Lords and Ladies organize. When she takes place on her throne, she does it with the same overwhelming presence she did when she was eighteen, twenty-five, thirty-eight. One thing she never did though, was fall off her horse mid race. 

Sehun wasn’t there, but when Anbu – another one of his mother’s servants – came to tell him, the terror he saw in her face was more than enough for him to picture it. Now that he is sitting on his mother’s soft mattress, his world softly shifts. It is a new reality where he’ll never miss his mother’s white hair, her wrinkles or the way she sometimes winces when she stands after sitting still for too long. 

Ignorance is bliss, he thinks, then feels guilty for wishing this didn’t happen because of such selfish reasons. 

He reaches out and takes his mother’s hand. Long, strong fingers close around his as the Queen’s focus lands on him. She sees what he means to say before he says it and quickly dismisses it with a soft smile and tender eyes. 

“Do not fret, my son,” she says. Her voice can fill every crack in the throne room, forcing the echo out of the stone, but it can also be softer like leaves falling in autumn. Right now, Sehun basks in it. “I will recover. I have had bigger bruises in my life, bigger cuts, and this is nothing like the pain I had to endure to give birth to you.” 

Sehun snorts, and she grins in response. He has heard this, applied to many different situations, a good hundred times in his life. 

“You are Great Prince,” she says. “As long as the royal healer insists on keeping me in this bed, you will be in charge. Sehun, it is important that you make a good impression. Do not alarm our people. I can ease your mind, but you will have to ease theirs. Do you understand?” 

He gives her a single, sharp nod, refusing to voice out his agreement. This is a slippery slope, he reckons, one he does not want to be tumbling down anytime soon. As the Great Prince – the oldest child of the royal family – he has several responsibilities which are meant to slowly introduce him to the court life and their active participants. Eventually, this serves one purpose only: to make his future crowning the smoothest possible. Sehun can read the hidden meanings in his mother’s eyes, the silent warnings she is giving him. _Do not take this lightly,_ she is saying. _This will help your future as King of this Kingdom._ As a warrior Queen, she has never been scared of her own mortality. Watching her keep the blankets close to her chest, as if to hide from him the wounds underneath, Sehun wishes he could share her peace of mind. 

“Sehun. Do you understand?” she asks again. 

Sehun nods before croaking out a faint _yes_. The royalty evades his mother’s eyes and something sweeter, more intimate replaces it. She lifts her free hand to his cheek and cradles his face, her palm warm and her touch full of love. 

“Everything will be alright,” she says. “Now, please, go and fetch your little brother. I want to talk to him. I hate to cause him such anguish.”

Sehun nods again, but he does not move. 

“We will stand guard,” Qing intervenes. Her voice is soft too, but fierce and proud. Sehun catches her eyes, and she slightly lifts her chin in response. More than loyalty, it’s faith that makes her tonevibrate – both love and friendship laced all over her intonations. “Great Prince Sehun should not worry. We are her Majesty’s personal guard and we will stand close, as it is our duty.” 

The servants all close their hands on the hilt of their swords in perfect unison. 

“See?” Sehun’s mother says with a smile. 

And Sehun does see. He sees his mother lying in bed in the middle of the day instead of being busy with her duties, he sees how useless those sharp swords are against her age, against her wounds, and he sees how tired she looks, how small she seems to be in the middle of her huge bed. He also sees that he has no other choice. Trying to rebel against centuries-old traditions now would be pointless. So he sighs, presses his mother’s hand tightly against his cheek then stands up. 

“I will not disappoint you, mother.” 

She smiles at him and he can feel the weight of her eyes as he walks out of her bedroom. He sneaks one last glance before shutting the door behind him, and finds Qing towering over his mother as she helps her into a more comfortable position. The soft noise the door makes as it closes breaks Sehun’s heart. He leans against it until his forehead rests against the carefully oiled wood. The air smells different outside of his mother’s chamber, and it takes him a couple of seconds to realise it’s the lack of ointments and medicine that confuses his lungs. He had not realised how heavy and _sick_ it smelled inside. Even now, he can taste the faintest hint of frankincense oil and turmeric on the back of his tongue. He should have asked to see the wounds, but when he got into the room, the healer was done and ready to leave. Thinking about it now, it seems very likely his mother asked Anbu to go get him _after_ she had been taken care of. 

He groans in annoyance. 

“Great Prince?”

Sehun whirls around, his heart leaping up his throat. His surprise must be terribly obvious because it triggers a low chuckle from the other. As luck would have it, it is none other than Kim Jongdae, Royal Beast Rider, laughing at him. Sehun’s insides give a little twist and embarrassment burns hot on his cheeks as Jongdae, smirk still in full show, bows before him. His manners are impeccable – always have been – but there’s always mischief, maybe even a bit of taunting whenever they’re aimed at Sehun. It’s not unkind, just overwhelming and definitely intriguing. Sehun loses his composure every time - yet he always looks forward to this little game. 

“Great Prince should forgive me,” Jongdae says as he straightens up, the hint of a singsong accent laced all over his intonations. “It was not my intention to scare him.” 

“I was not scared,” Sehun protests. He meets Jongdae’s eyes – they’re black today, not blue – and feels his own blush creep a little higher on his cheeks. “Just… surprised. I was lost in thoughts.” 

Mischief leaves Jongdae’s face as he glances at the Queen’s chamber. He is much smaller than Sehun but his presence easily fills the corridor. Sehun has known him forever, has always seen him stand slightly behind his mother and was even lucky enough to catch sight of Jongdae’s magic a few times, but he would not dare say he is used to the Beast Rider’s aura. People flinch when Jongdae enters a room, whether they’re lesser nobles, too little used to Jongdae’s otherness, or active members of the court, and Sehun cannot blame them. It’s not even the way he is dressed, not about the feathers intertwined in his long curly hair, or the small constellations drawn all around his eyes. If Sehun had to guess, he’d say it is _everything else_ , all the things you would not see right away. How fast Jongdae actually is, how strong. How, sometimes, his eyes turn an electric blue as he mentally communicates with his beast - _Orage_ \- and how feral he gets when danger lurks near the Queen. The darkness of his silhouette when he gets on the back of his creature, and how, despite how small he looks then, there’s sheer strength radiating from him, power in his purest form. 

One day, when the crown on Sehun’s head will mean something else and when the throne he’ll sit on will place him higher than anyone else, Jongdae will stand behind _him_ and maybe, then, maybe Sehun will have access to his secrets. 

“The Queen will heal,” Jongdae says. 

His eyes are intense on Sehun, and they force a nod out of him. Jongdae smiles, soft and short-lived as though the smile itself was only meant for Sehun and keeping it there longer would have compromised its secrecy – and Sehun finds he quite likes that idea. 

“Little Prince will want to see his mother,” Jongdae adds, and mischief is back in his voice. His gaze flickers to Sehun’s blush but he shows mercy and turns around. “You should go get him.”

Sehun nods for the second time, not minding that Jongdae, now facing the heavy doors to the Queen’s chamber, cannot see him. He wouldn’t bet money on that to be perfectly honest. He just watches as Jongdae opens the door and slips inside the room without a sound. The door closes like it would after a soft draft. He’s the only one who never knocks before entering the Queen’s room. Sehun doesn’t even think he’s ever seen him ask for an audience with his mother. Is it the mischievousness, the playfulness of his spirit? Or some obscure privileges he secured as the Royal Beast Rider? 

Sehun lets out a sigh. _Secrets_ , he thinks, and he mulls over this new mystery about Kim Jongdae as he turns around to get his little brother. Never once the thought that he will never see his mother ever again crosses his mind, never once does he doubt the comforting words he’s been fed since his mother’s fall. He ponders over secrets as he walks across the castle, absentmindedly bowing to everyone who salutes him, but it’s in secret that his thinking happens, too detached from reality, too closed off. 

Some secrets are best kept.   
Others are to be solved.

Sehun sits still on the throne of crystal, his back straight against the cold, harsh surface of the material. He’s been dragging his fingers along the sharper edges of the armrests for hours now, and the mineral has finally pierced his skin. He can barely feel the sting, doesn’t even register the slight pain, but still focuses most of his senses on it with a quiet sort of frenzy. His ancestors have worked hard on the sculpting of the Great Prince’s throne, and most of the crystal has been smoothed out, either by professional hands or centuries of history flashing by. Looking for some forgotten ruggedness is no easy task, but it is one he has set his heart to, and he’s been doing wonders. Will the slight trickle of blood running down his fingers stain the material? Will another Great Prince, far in time, wonder about the hint of red amongst the hues of whites and pale blues? Or will Sehun’s suffering, the redness of his blood, his eagerness to have something physical to hold on to to face his pain just fade? 

He stops and finally looks down at his work. His joints crack as he spreads his fingers to take a better look. How disappointing. It looks like he’s bitten his nails with too much enthusiasm. His index finger bleeds the most. Or like he fell headfirst in gravel and tried to protect his face by shoving his hand in front of him. It really does _not_ look like he lost his mother in the middle of the night. The blood that was already drying on her face though, the dark red painting her cold skin trailing down from her mouth and her eyes to the silk pillows - _that_ blood looked like death. It looked like she had died alone, without him by her side, without him to hold her hand. It looked like it had caught her by surprise. The healer had closed her eyes before Sehun barged into the room, but he hadn’t done anything about her slightly parted lips and her arched eyebrows. 

_Oh my_ , she must have thought. _What is this?_

And then she was gone.   
Brain haemorrhage, the healer said. Nothing they could have foreseen.   
Nothing Sehun would ever forget.   
He slams his hand against the sharp crystals. 

Light trickles from the farthest window of the throne room. On the west window, darkness slightly lights up as dark orange spills from the east, mingles with the shadow and slowly, but surely, overpowers the stars Sehun can catch from his seat. Soon they’ll be gone and both east and west windows will be flooded with sunlight. The first sunray is bound to flash across the room anytime now, and the architecture, so carefully thought through all those centuries ago, will strip it off its shyness as it’ll land precisely on the red diamond throne. Light will explode then, and hit every corner of the room. Red spots dancing across black stone and marble, setting ablaze the Queen’s throne from within and painting its immediate surrounding with fiery glimmers. Magic, for the unaware eye, the gullible heart. Science for those in on the secret. Unbearable for Sehun now. 

He closes his eyes, his refusal to witness the daily miracle almost as harsh as his need to feel physical pain. 

“My Prince?” 

The voice is soft, but it does not carry any of the hesitation people have used around him for the past few hours. It tugs at Sehun’s heart, and he can’t help but open his eyes. 

Jongdae’s face comes into focus a mere inches from him. A shadow play of their encounter from the day before plays in the back of Sehun’s mind. The way Jongdae caught him off guard and how Sehun faced his playfulness with so little confidence. He doesn’t jump over Jongdae’s physical proximity this time; he just watches him and Jongdae watches back. He makes the first move after a couple of minutes, glances at his feet then climbs the last step leading up to the raised platform under Sehun’s throne. Above his shoulder, light pours down in the back of the room, the pool of sunshine slowly moving towards the red diamond throne. Sehun blinks away and meets Jongdae’s eyes, so dark he can see the faint outline of his crystal throne over his pupils. 

“My Prince,” Jongdae says with a voice oh so soft but so heavy. Sehun’s heart clenches in his chest and he lets out a shaky breath as pain washes over him. Jongdae’s eyes follow something on his cheek and it’s not until he lifts a hand that Sehun understands. “My Prince, you have to come with me,” Jongdae whispers, wiping away Sehun’s tear with gentle fingers. “Come with me.” 

There’s urgency in his voice, but it’s a dark one, and it’s pressing. It feels tense, like the air before a thunderstorm. Sehun fights off his first instinct – which is to reach for Jongdae’s hand and bury his face into his palm to cry his heart out. The intimacy is warm after the past hours. Everything has been so cold, people have been so distant. In a few minutes, when red will be the dominant colour in the throne room, they’ll crowd Sehun again but none of them will _actually_ talk to him. His brother has run off, but his brother is not Great Prince. He can grieve. 

“Sehun,” Jongdae says. 

He pulls away, but not so much that he leaves Sehun in the cold again. He merely straightens up and his hand remains within Sehun’s reach like an invitation. Behind him, the light has reached the steps leading to the red diamond throne and already, the feet of the royal seat are lighting up, red undulating inside like lava brought back to life. Sehun takes Jongdae’s hand. 

The latter does not waste more time. He pulls Sehun out of the throne then down the couple of steps to the floor. His hold secure around Sehun’s hand, he drags him behind the thrones, towards the heavy drapes covering the black stone wall there. Servants will have to replace them with the white ones, Sehun realises. For the mourning. He looks away and focuses on Jongdae, on the feathers stuck in his hair, the little curls against his nape and the longer ones, straighter, dancing to the shifts in his shoulder blades. Jongdae only lets go of his hand when they reach the drapes, and it’s because he needs his two hands to pull the heavy material away. He barely pauses when the stones behind reveal themselves, presses his fingers against a hidden bump then shoves his shoulder against the wall to force the secret passageway open. A whiff of humidity and staleness washes over Sehun and he winces. 

Jongdae turns back towards him just as red explodes within the throne room. It reaches Jongdae’s face but the darkness of his eyes seems to swallow the light. He takes Sehun’s hand and drags him inside the tunnel. He closes the door just as the one, much bigger, much heavier, on the other side of the room opens over the most prominent members of the court. 

Jongdae doesn’t say anything as he leads Sehun through more secret passages, and whenever they have to walk in plain view, he forces Sehun to go even faster. Some doors Sehun knows, others he discovers with a nonchalant sort of awe. He soon loses track of the stairs and turns and resolves to follow Jongdae with absolutely no idea of the latter’s goal. He does notice, though, that every wall they slip behind grants them the kind of discretion that should not be possible at this hour of the day. The castle doesn’t sleep, and no corridor is empty, but they avoid the busy kitchens and their surroundings, the errands boys and girls running around, even the stairs leading up to the nobles’ rooms. They avoid the whispers too, even if Sehun catches a few words here and there as they jump from one passage to the other. White dresses catch his eyes a couple of times, white capes, white flowers, white noise in the back of his mind. 

Then they exit yet one other passageway, and the familiarity of the corridor they are now standing in hits Sehun with full power. 

“What are you…?” he means to ask, but Jondgae shuts him off by gesturing him to silence. 

Sehun witnesses another strange replay of the day before as Jongdae opens the double doors leading to the Queen’s chamber, but if it made him eager back then, the sight now adds to the weight in his chest. Jongdae stops under the doors’ frame and looks back at Sehun. 

“Come in,” he says. 

Sehun does, his legs shaking under him. It smells like herbs and fragrance in the antechamber, like his mother’s oils and inks. There’s a book lying open on a small pedestal table, a half-burnt candle and a few sealed letters, all of them waiting for the Queen’s eyes and hands, for the solidity of her body, all of them requiring that she one day come back to them. They once offered a sense of certainty in the future, a quiet assurance about what would happen – the Queen reads, the Queen lights up a candle, the Queen answers her mail – and now they’re already relics, cruel reminders of what would never be. 

“I thought her room would be locked up by now,” Sehun says, his voice grating against the back of his throat. He looks away from the table to turn his focus on Jongdae again. “It should be locked.” 

“I will lock it myself,” Jongdae answers. 

He takes Sehun’s hand again and leads him into the Queen’s bedroom. The huge bed has been neatly made, her personal effects all tidied up. The window is open and both fresh air and light fill the room. Dawn has turned into the small hours of the day, and orange and pinks are now tainted with light blue over the horizon. It’ll be a clear day. 

Two small white paper lanterns have been left on top of the mountain of pillows at the end of the bed. Their balance is precarious and they undulate softly to invisible wafts of air. Sehun takes a step closer, smiling as he notices the little drawings adorning their sides. One sports a beautifully painted moon and the other, a glowing sun. 

“Qing,” he whispers.

“What do you smell?”

Sehun turns around, frowning. Jongdae stands in the middle of the room, his eyes heavy on Sehun. He lifts a finger and taps his nose, quietly renewing his request. Sehun obliges. He breathes in a lungful of air, and is relieved to find he doesn’t smell blood. Knowing his mother’s guard, they must have cleaned every inch of the room before being forced to leave it, but soap barely has any power against the memory of his mother, lying in her own blood. 

Relief must be obvious on his face because Jongdae shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. “Deeper.” 

Sehun breathes out and the lanterns wobble in rhythm. He secures their position then focuses on his second inhalation. Jongdae joins him in a few strides, not seeming to notice his intrusion in Sehun’s personal space. He cups his face with the same lack of care he slipped into the chamber the day before, as though he had the right to, as though he was expected to. His thumbs rest against Sehun’s jawline and his eyes dig into his face. He doesn’t look calm, Sehun realises. The darkness in his eyes is far from still – it’s deep and burning and furious. 

“Deeper,” Jongdae repeats. He angles Sehun’s head towards the ceiling before letting go. He doesn’t step back though. “What can you smell?” 

Sehun breathes in deeply, until it burns his lungs and he can taste the air on the back of his tongue. 

“Oils,” he says. He takes another breath. If he really pays attention, he can smell the cleaning soap, maybe even a hint of parchment paper. “I can… I can smell my mother’s perfume.” He glances at Jongdae, but the latter stands still. Sehun breathes in again. “I smell the herbs and everything the healer used. It’s a bit bitter, but… I think I can smell them.” 

Jongdae groans, then turns around. Sehun throws him a confused look. 

“What do _you_ smell?” he asks. 

Jongdae’s shoulders drop as he looks back at Sehun. He blinks a few times, his face angled in such a way that the pouring light from the morning splatters over his traits. It lights up his skin and highlights the darkness under his eyes. He has stepped back, but he is close enough for Sehun to clearly see the change happen. Like coloured ink dripping into water, it starts at the top of his iris. Piercing blue tears apart the darkness of his eyes, melts within its depth at first, but slowly overpowers as the phenomenon speeds up. Sehun has seen this a few times already, but never that close. He’s seen the result a hundred times though, so he braces himself for the oddness of Jongdae’s gaze when his eyes are ice blue. 

Jongdae blinks a fourth time, and the switch is complete. He radiates magic now, untamed, elemental magic. His senses are linked to his creature’s, and when he breathes in, he does it with much larger lungs and a much better instinct as to what he is smelling. 

“I smell magic,” he says. His voice is low but shaky, as though a growl was about to overpower it. “I smell a broken kind of magic. A dark one.” 

His eyes are searching from the ceiling to the floors, until they finally stop on the bed. They slide over the paper lanterns, unminding, but almost feral when they land on the pillows. 

“It’s stronger there,” he says, gesturing at the bed. He glances at Sehun. “It’s the bitterness you can smell. It’s strong enough that even you perceive it.” 

Sehun breathes in, this time focusing as much as he can on the sour aftertaste in the back of his throat, but every time he thinks he manages to separate it from the rest, it drowns in much sweeter herbal smells. Frustrated, he stares at Jongdae as he shakes his head. 

“It’s fine,” the latter tells him. “You wouldn’t…” He stops, seems to mull over his next words then adds. “Did you smell it when you visited her yesterday?” 

It hurts to replay the scene in his mind, but Sehun does it nonetheless. He remembers how fresh the air felt in his lungs when he left the chamber. He remembers how heavy it felt inside in comparison - _heavy_ not bitter. 

“I did not,” he says. 

Jongdae lets out a low chuckle, and once again the sound resonates deep within his chest before ending in a low groan. 

“Neither did I.” 

Sehun waits for something more. Some kind of explanation. Is it supposed to mean something? But Jongdae remains silent, his eyes, so blue, so piercing, dancing across the room. In the silence around them, Sehun hears something crack at the top of the tower, and he pictures Orage, Jongdae’s beast, perched on the roof, blue eyes aimed at a room she can only see through Jongdae’s mind. It’s quite easy to imagine her muzzle scrunching up as smells she has no access to overpower her senses. They mean something to them. Jongdae’s chest is now rumbling with the start of a growl every time he breathes in, and his discomfort is highlighted by the noises of the beast shifting her position at the top of the tower. 

“Jongdae,” Sehun hears himself asking. The sky is blue and the sun on full display now, but promises of a lenient weather doesn’t reach him. He’s cold to his core. “What does it mean?” 

Jongdae looks into his face, blue eyes sharp as swords. 

“It means that something happened here last night. Something terrible.” 

Sehun struggles to gulp down his saliva. 

“Jongdae,” he says again.

Jongdae’s eyes are unwavering, but they’re watering, and his tears look crystalline against such a pristine background. 

“My Prince. It means your mother was killed here last night.” 

Sehun’s world shatters. His lungs constrict, and gasping for air does nothing to ease the feeling of lead in his chest as all he can taste now is the bitterness. It’s coating his tongue, it fills up his mouth and burns the back of this throat. He gags once, twice, and it strips him of what little strength he had left. When he collapses and his knees connect with the stone floor of his mother’s room, they do it with a loud crack that shakes him to his core. Something is building up inside of him, biting as it moves up towards Sehun's mouth and part of him is sane enough to worry about throwing up all over his mother’s belongings, so he presses shaking fingers against his face just as it washes over him. He lets out a broken sob, loses air over it then chokes on the pain, on the intensity of it all. He can taste the blood drying all over his fingers and he realises, a few heartbeats too late, that he’s shoved his fingers in his mouth in a frail attempt at smothering his cries. 

Jongdae kneels in front of him and pulls Sehun’s hands from his face. Sehun doesn’t even have the illusion of control anymore, so he lowers his head and avoids Jongdae’s eyes, still sobbing. Images of his mother fill his mind. Her arms around him as she sat him on her thighs, her welcoming smile whenever politics requested his presence by her side and on the Great Prince throne, her warmth during the most cruel months of winter, the softness of her voice and her low chuckles when she would smuggle a younger Sehun into her chamber so he could sleep in her bed, away from nightmares and monsters. 

“It can’t be,” he cries, begs. “It can’t be, it can’t be.” 

Jongdae’s fingers slide from Sehun’s wrists up to his palms, and Sehun can feel them probe around the cuts on his fingers. 

“You cannot hurt yourself, my Prince,” Jongdae says in a low voice. He keeps Sehun’s fingers between his palms. “You cannot.”

Sehun looks up, another trembling whine slipping past his lips. Jongdae’s eyes are dark again, and the familiar depth is comforting, but oh so intriguing. The tears that gathered in his eyes are still there, stuck to his bottom lashes but they do nothing to soften the sharpness of his face. Something is lurking under his closed-off expression, and just like the true meaning of the bitter smell eluded Sehun, he cannot quite understand what he is looking at. His frustration is short-lived as another cry shakes his whole body and this seems to crack Jongdae’s exterior. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, the gesture swallowing most of his tears, then scoots closer to Sehun. 

And with memories of warmth and embraces swarming his mind, Sehun leans in until his forehead rests on the crook of Jongdae’s neck. His skin is cold at the touch, stretched firmly over strong muscles. Jongdae slides an arm around Sehun to hold him close and Sehun’s heart breaks into pieces. 

“What are we to do now?” Sejun whines.

Sehun looks at his younger brother, currently sitting on his bed. His voice still carries the strain of the tears he ran off to shed and his eyes are red, puffy. Sehun can’t help the surge of yearning he feels at the sight, although he is not quite sure whether it’s yearning for his brother’s presence, or for the obvious traces of his grief. Although they were born less than three years apart, he sometimes feels like Sejun is worlds apart from him. As Little Prince, his time is mostly taken by tutors and lessons, from swordsmanship to geography and history, with shaping him into an intellectual as their only purposes. He’ll know enough to take over the red diamond throne if something were to happen to Sehun, of course, but traditions will have him as Councillor to the Crown rather than the man under the Crown itself. Sehun has been training for this exact moment his whole life and now, more than ever, they are both standing on different paths – paths running side by side in the same direction, but still fundamentally unalike. 

“What we were taught,” Sehun finally replies. “We will do exactly what is expected of us, Sejun.” 

_“We have to keep this secret”_ Jongdae had said when even the will to cry had deserted Sehun’s body. _“We will get to the bottom of it, but in the dark. It is better to be safe. Whoever did this has to think they got away with it. That’s how we’ll catch them.”_

“What if we cannot?” Sejun asks in a low, unsure voice. 

Sehun blinks away the memory of Jongdae’s feral grin, the flash of his canines and the wildness in his eyes to look at his brother. He is exhausted and never before has his bed seemed so welcoming. Sejun’s eyes are still glistening and Sehun does not want to add _this_ guilt to the storm he’ll have to face in his dreams. 

“We will,” he says, instead. He tries to sound certain, but Sejun’s expression tells him he has failed. “Tomorrow, we will start mourning her. We will wear a new diamond every day, as tradition requires. You will continue your lessons, and I will take over her last cases. In forty five days, I will get crowned and you will sit by my side. We will choose the new court together and honour mother’s memory by making sure nothing happens to our people.” He pauses. Sejun is right to doubt him. How will he ever be able to maintain everything their mother has built? “We _will_ make it, Sejun. There is no other way.” 

Sejun looks like he wants to say something, but instead decides against it. His eyes wander around Sehun’s room as he shoves his hands between his thighs to keep them warm. He looks so young, way too young to be an orphan already, and Sehun wants to scream at the unfairness of it all. He is right, of course. They’re not ready. Sehun will remain Great Prince for forty five more days – one day for every year the Queen has lived, it’s tradition. No crowning can happen as long as every day of a ruler’s life has not been celebrated, but there are duties that need to be held still. The list is long, and Sehun’s anger is the only thing standing between him and weariness. At least, it’s relentless and tenacious. 

“You’ll be king next month,” Sejun says. 

Sehun blinks out of his reverie. He stares at Sejun then nods. It sounds as weird to his little brother as it does to him. 

“I know I am … I know I have not really proven myself today, but I swear I will do better,” Sejun adds. “I am Little Prince, and you are to be crowned. I will be your right arm, as Mother wished it. I … I want to be by your side. I will help you get through the next forty five days.” He pauses and something flashes through his eyes. When he speaks again, his chin is raised and there’s fierceness all over his face. “We are brothers. We will get through this together. We will stand together.” 

Sehun cannot help a smile to break through what he knows must appear as a constant frown on his face. Sejun is just as aware as he is of the distance between them, but whereas Sehun was accepting this as the stone-cold truth, Sejun has chosen to rise against it. In this moment, he sees a bit of their mother in his little brother, and he already feels closer. Defiance, challenge and refusal to bend have always been the Queen’s stronger traits – the ones that stick around in the songs about her anyway. 

“It is very kind of you,” Sehun says, still smiling. 

Sejun nods, his own smile leaving the hint of a dimple on his cheek. His eyes escape Sehun’s again as he loses himself in a focused visual exploration of Sehun’s room – an obvious effort to regain his countenance. Sehun’s smile slips off his face. 

_“The Crown will be weak during the next forty-five days,”_ Jongdae had said. They were sitting cross-legged on the stone floor, Sehun’s back against the Queen’s bed, and Jongdae before him. _“It always is during the mourning. There is no official monarch yet. If this is about the throne, and it most surely is, then we will have to be very careful.”_ His eyes had left the window he was staring at to come and find Sehun’s with a burning intensity that was hard for Sehun to hold. _“You will have to stand alone, my Prince. But I will be there, in secrecy.”_ Another smile, then. Feral, dangerous. Animal bloodlust mixed with Jongdae’s human face. Sehun looked away. _“I am the Royal Beast Rider. I will be there.”_

“You must be tired,” Sejun says, and once again, his voice jolts Sehun out of his thinking. 

He glances at the window – it is dark outside – then at his bed, and the longing for sleep must have shown on his face, because Sejun stands up with a little smile. 

“I’ll see you in the throne room in the morning,” he says. 

Sehun nods and watches as his brother makes his way to the door. He closes it softly behind him and the sound of his soles on the other side seems to be hesitant for a few seconds before it finally fades away. The walls are thick, and Sehun’s room is far enough from the kitchens and the soldiers’ restroom that he is now surrounded by a false sort of quietness. He sighs then stands up, leaving his desk and the papers he was pretending to look through when his brother knocked on his door earlier. Dawn will come soon enough and with it the first day of mourning for his mother. He’ll have to stand at the bottom of the stairs leading to the Great Prince throne as the royal seamster will sew the first red diamond on his jacket. Forty five diamonds will be waiting for him, and forty five more for his brother. One for each year his mother lived. 

Sehun walks to his window in search of fresh air because the walls are suddenly too thick and the keep too quiet. He grips the edge and welcomes both the sting of his cuts reawakening and the gust of wind ruffling his hair. Part of him wishes he could have told his brother the truth about what happened the night before, but the rest of him, more than the _half_ of him is choking on anger and rage. His blood is boiling, and when it’s not, it’s ice cold and clotting his veins. His eyelids burn and there’s a scream stuck inside his ribcage, and Sehun is afraid it’ll claim the air in his lungs and crack his ribs as it’ll leave him. They might not be the closest siblings, Sehun still wouldn’t want his younger brother to endure this pain. No. He’ll present him with the evidence and the culprit, and they’ll punish whoever did it together. 

Better this way, he thinks, and another sigh forces its way past his lips. Sehun looks up, hoping to find comfort in the night sky and its thousands of stars. There’s a faint smell of wet grass swirling all around him, easily overpowered by the oils torches are dipped into before they’re lit up. It smells like it does every night, but there is no comfort in it. Sehun looks for the stars, and – he sees them. Not the stars, no. Jongdae and Orage. 

At first, he wonders how he could have missed them, but as he turns his focus on them, he realises they’re both so still that they easily merge with the darkness around them. Orage is sitting on her back legs at the top of a guard tower, her long tail curling down the wall and her head raised towards the sky. Sehun watches, awestruck, the difference of scale between Jongdae, so small, and the creature’s body. Most of her is close to a fox – long muzzle, crescent eyes and triangle ears pointed at the sky. Shevhas most of the bushy tail too, but she is more black than orange. Although orange does crack the darkness of her fur along her spine and over her flanks. Under the delicate moonlight, it looks like molten gold cascading down her sides. It’s not easy, but Sehun can make out some of the feathers that are sprinkled over her body from the neck down to her tail: sparse and much smaller at her neck, they grow in both size and number close to her tail until they finally overpower the fur, ending her tail in a bouquet of gold feathers. Her wings are feathery as well, aside from the junction point that attaches them to her body, but they’re neatly folded against her flanks right now, and Sehun can’t see the transition. It’s an incredible creature, one myths and legends are written about, and Sehun is lucky enough to have one serving his kingdom. 

His eyes slide past Orage’s talons and land on Jongdae. He, too, has his head lifted towards the stars, and even from the distance, Sehun can tell how odd he looks. He has two arms, two legs, one head and the same body one would expect from a human being, but there’s always been something about him that makes him look… otherworldly. Sehun cannot make out the expression on Jongdae’s face, just the curls of his hair on his shoulders and the scintillating blueness of his eyes but - _oh_. 

Sehun straightens with a gasp, only then realising what he’s seeing. The magic of the people of the north – Jongdae’s people – is secret for the most part, sung about but rarely witnessed by commoners. Stanvaeld - Sehun’s kingdom - is the only kingdom granted with the honour of having a Beast Rider amongst its soldiers, but there are many mysteries about their kind that remain, even to them. Orage’s eyes, usually of a deep electric blue, are now a few shades lighter and closer to white. There’s an iridescent gleam coming from them, one that is echoed in Jongdae’s eyes as well, as they stare up at the stars. It’s not easy to see, but Sehun catches the delicate twinkling of light particles falling from the stars and directly into Orage’s eyes. This strange communion between the mythical creature and the constellations above their heads is what gives the beast her magic, and Sehun has hundreds of questions. But the people of the north are secretive and eager to keep their secrets, and this, this is probably the closest Sehun will ever be to an answer. 

He watches, mesmerized, oblivious of the peacefulness taking over him. 

_I will be there_ , Jongdae had said, earlier this morning, and he had laid his eyes on Sehun, the shadow of his feral grin still tugging at the corners of his lips. Then, he had added, with a voice full of promises for both terrible and good things: _do you trust me?_

As Sehun watches them talk to the stars, as he watches the stars answer, he finds he does.   
He does. 

Sehun leans over the table to grab a couple of sealed letters, and the red diamond sewn on his jacket catches the edge of the table, blocking his gesture. Sehun gasps, fingers immediately coming to fidget with the ornament to make sure it is still securely attached to the fabric. His fingernails follow the sharp edges of the gemstone, and he slightly winces when it reopens one of the cuts left there by his angry encounter with his crystal throne the day before. The diamonds he and his brother are to carry until the end of the mourning have been carefully cut, the work so delicate Sehun suspects the seamster will have to reattach them a few times over the course of the coming month. 

Sharp diamonds and fragile fabric do not usually do well together. 

Sehun turns back his focus to the letters, their seals filling him with dread as he recognises the numerous coats of arms and symbols, each of them herald of a very important family, Lords and Ladies, Kings and Queens offering their condolences in their best handwritings, their words laced with more duties for Sehun to take on, more things to do. He did manage to steal a few hours of sleep the night before, but he fears these letters will only strip him of what little energy he has gained. 

Thankfully, distraction comes in the form of a loud knock. Sehun almost trips as he hastily stands up and rushes to the door of his study. Qing raises an eyebrow at him when he opens the door, still struggling to regain his balance. 

“Great Prince,” she greets. She gives him another look before forcing her way into his study, a trail carrying tea and delicate flower cakes between her hands. “You have been working for so long, you have missed lunch. The Cook sent me to bring you this.” A hint of mockery. “She says you are already way too thin.” 

Qing places the trail on Sehun’s work table with absolutely no regard to the mail spread over the surface, and it helps Sehun breathe a little easier. 

“You…” he starts, and his voice breaks. Qing’s dark eyes watch him, so he starts again. “You waited for me to open the door.” He waits, but she merely nods. “You never do that.” 

She smiles then crosses her hands against her stomach. 

“You are to be crowned soon, Great Prince. Things are bound to change. That should not surprise you.” The ceremony in her voice and posture chips off a little, just enough so Sehun can catch sight of Qing as he used to know her: loud, teasing and demanding. She already was a member of the Queen’s Guard when Sehun’s father died, and she helped raise him and Sejun with an iron fist. He likes her better when she’s judging and unbothered by titles and hierarchy. She sighs and her appearance cracks a little more. 

“Now, will you sit and eat?” 

Sehun obliges with a smile. The tea is warm and its fragrance fills the room as he pours it in the single porcelain cup. He feels bad to be drinking alone with Qing still standing next to him, so he pushes the plate of flower cakes in her direction. She pretends she doesn’t see it. 

“Have the letters started to come already?” she asks instead with a glare at his work table.

“They have,” he says, but his own glance at the table is miserable rather than challenging. When he straightens, he finds Qing’s eyes heavy on him. 

“I watched your mother lose sleep over them when your grandfather died. She would spend her days in her study, reading and writing back. Every hour she had that was free of mourning ceremonies and visits to allies, she spent in this very same study room, writing as though it was her more sacred duty.” 

“Was it not?” Sehun asks. 

Qing scoffs. 

“She was seventeen and recently orphaned. What does the Great Prince think?” 

Sehun looks into Qing’s face. He is way too familiar with her teachings and the bite in her voice. It’s a trap, of course it is, but she looks eager and Sehun realises he feels the same hunger within himself. Hunger for memories and details, and remembrance, for a little bit of his mother to linger with them. He happily gives in to her trick. 

“It is tradition,” he says. “When the King or the Queen dies, the next in line must make sure they are being honoured. That does include reading condolences letters _and_ writing back.” 

Qing smiles, and her smile is angry, taunting. 

“So tell me, then. How do they honour her?” 

_With redundancy_ , Sehun wants to say. They write about her in speeches, prose spread over their pages in the most beautiful way, and it’s cold and distant. But Qing watches him with a victorious grin, and he does not want to back down, does not want to bend. If she wants to go on the offensive beneath her manners and politeness, so be it. Two can play this game. 

“How do _you_ honour her?” 

Qing’s lips part on a silent vowel of surprise, and Sehun sees the limit he’s crossed written all over her face. He expects her to storm out, he expects screams and even insults, and his own hunger for it takes him back. It’s been silent all around him for hours; silent, even, in the throne room as they sew the diamond on his jacket, and the words he’s been reading all day long are nothing but quiet whispers he cannot really hear. Qing walks with a limp, reminiscence of a past wound that’s never really healed, and he wants her loud gait, he wants her to push him and yell. He wants her to be so angry she will slur her words and her hometown dialect will weigh heavy on her intonations – he wants her to be so loud it will drown out the chaos in his own head. 

But Qing’s face falls, and Sehun’s only solace dies out. 

“I cry a lot,” she says, eventually. “Because I miss her so much.” Her fingers clench around her sword and the gesture catches Sehun’s eyes. She is still carrying the Queen’s guard sword, the etchings on the metal flowery and beautiful. “I remember a lot, too. It makes it very hard to breathe, sometimes.” 

Her voice is low, and she ends her sentence on a whisper. Would she scream if Sehun were to tell her her precious friend was murdered? Would the sword be drawn out, and would it whistle in the still air of his study? Would it offer him any kind of comfort to have someone else drowning in the monotony of it all, in the silence draping the castle? And what if it did not? What of it? Sehun does not need comfort, he needs anger and justice, and the loudness of war and revenge. He needs fire, not flowers. 

Qing must have read something on his face, because she lets out a small sigh then takes a seat on the other chair. She lets go of her sword, pushes away a few letters then grabs a flower cake. She takes a bite and the rose jam colours her lips a few shades deeper. The smell is sweet, almost tangible as it mixes with the tea’s aroma. 

“On the third day after her father’s passing, I came to visit her in here, and she looked… Oh, Sehun, you look so much like her. Her back was straight and stiff, and there was darkness under her eyes, and she was… She was young, so young, but there was so much royalty in her already. She was Queen before they crowned her. She became one as soon as she heard her father had died in battle.” Killed with three arrows, Sehun thinks. His mother, forced to clean the wounds, to brush her father’s hair and care for his body, as the last living member of his lineage. So strong already. “She was to become a great Queen, just like you will become a great King, my dear.” Her eyebrows twitch as she reads disagreement on Sehun’s face – he’s been dreaming of snakes and poisons he cannot smell, and his mother’s blood on her pillows, on his hands, and even in dreams, he isn’t strong. “But when I came to see her that day, she looked… she looked tired and alone, and like her skin had turned as dried as the paper they use for those letters.” 

She gives another scoff in the general direction of the bigger pile of letters. Her words have washed out the tint of rose jam on her lips, and it makes the blush of annoyance and frustration stand out on her cheeks. 

“I was young too, but I already knew I wanted to be part of her guard. I knew I would follow her everywhere she went, and that’s exactly what I did. That day, though, I did not follow. I stood by her side, and I read the letters in her stead. I wrote her words as she spoke them to me, and we sealed our thank-yous together. I think she realised, as I was writing, that it did not matter if it was not her handwriting. I think she understood that she now had the time for matters that really needed her, and for remembering her father as she knew him, and not as those cold words depicted him.”

Qing’s smile is delicate as her eyes trail over Sehun, lost in memory. 

“She appointed me captain of her personal guard the day after her crowning. It was a great honour.” Darkness passes over her face and she blinks. Her skin is pale again, her blush long gone. “It still is.” 

“My mother loved you very much,” Sehun says. 

Qing slightly bows her head, as though thanking him. The flower cake remains untouched on the table. He guesses the captain of the dead Queen does not really fancy flowers either.

“So did I,” she says. 

Sehun smiles then finally takes a first sip of tea. He thinks about his mother at seventeen, with the weight of the kingdom on her shoulders. He would arrive in her life four years after, and she would teach him about being a leader, about what carrying a crown really means. Traditions, rules, laws, she’d mix them all in the stories she would tell him at night, and yet he would never guess she had one day handed one of her responsibilities as Great Princess to a simple girl. Not yet a captain, not even a soldier. Sehun glances at Qing, obviously still lost in her thoughts. Maybe not that simple a girl, he admits with a hint of amusement. 

“Sejun has offered his help,” he says, and this draws back Qing’s focus on him. “I am thinking I will let him handle the royal mail, now.” 

Qing’s smile is blinding. 

“Perfect. Our Little Prince did very well. I am sure this new responsibility will please him.” 

Sehun nods. It’s a little easier to hear his own thoughts, but the peace he was hoping to find after his concession to Qing’s not-so-well-hidden intentions still eludes him. It’s all for the better anyway, as having more time will only help him find his mother’s assassin sooner. This is the comfort he finds, and he drapes himself with it. His resolve only grows harder. 

As though sensing the finality in his thoughts, Qing finally stands up. 

“Alright,” she says. “The Cook will send someone to fetch your trail in a bit, and it better be empty. You are to dine in the common room with the rest of the court tonight – do not miss it. Today, we are honouring your mother’s first year, and stories of the day she was born will be told by those lucky enough to have been there. _This_ ,” her voice dips as she emphasises on the word, “is more important than lacklustre letters.” 

Sehun nods with a slight smile. Pleased, Qing puts her hand back on her sword out of habit rather than need then turns around. She exits the room as ceremoniously as her limp allows her to do so, and he hears her making her way down the corridor. His smile dies down and he braces himself for more silence. 

“How was the ceremony this morning?” 

Sehun jumps on his chair then yelps as it almost topples over and takes him in its downfall. His palm crashes against the surface of his work table as he reaches out for support, and the sound, unexpected, fills the room. Out of breath, he looks up and finds Jongdae sitting on the edge of the only window of the room. 

“By the deities, Jongdae,” he says, and Jongdae smiles at his breathless gasp. 

“I like that you call me Jongdae,” he then answers before jumping inside the study. 

This takes Sehun by surprise. Few are those who dare to address Jongdae directly, but those who do call him _Beast Rider_ \- and that’s what he is. Sehun has always called him Jongdae though, because he feels it is truer to _who_ he is. 

“I like it too,” he says. 

Jongdae shoots him an intense look before turning back his focus on the table and the letters spread over them. His silence is nerve-wracking and Sehun, absolutely not used to being the one who starts conversations, can only watch wordlessly as Jongdae picks up a letter. He skims it and scrunches up his nose, dismissing proper etiquette and the way he should have greeted Sehun as he does. He’s wearing black, like he usually does – his long robes thinning out his silhouette to the point that he looks tall despite being smaller than most – with only a hint of colour at his waist, where a dark ochre leather belt holds the delicate fabric of both his inner and outer robes over his waist. He looks like he does every day actually, constellations tattoed over his cheekbones and along the arch of his eyebrows and gold feathers stuck in his hair, aside from one little detail. He wears his hair tied up in a bun with some red ribbon holding the curls together rather than the usual down and wild hairdo. 

The banality angers Sehun somehow, so he gets up and walks up to him. 

“You’d know, by the way. How it was.” He snatches the letter out of Jongdae’s hands and puts it back on the table. “You would know if you had come.”

The whole court was there. Servants, even a few wealthy merchants, people Sehun had never seen before, they were all there. Most of them were crying as the royal seamster worked quickly on Sehun and Sejun’s jackets. His eyes were blurry with tears too, but his fingers knew what to do. When he looked up from his perfect stitches and met Sehun’s eyes, there was regret on his face and it was sincere, warm, but to Sehun, it felt… unwelcome. The space Jongdae would always occupy behind the Red Diamond Throne was empty and so was the one behind the Crystal Throne. 

“What good would it have made?” Jongdae answers with a snarl. “There was no red diamond for me, was there?”

_If you want one, there will be one for you, every day_ , Sehun wants to say, but it would be a lie. Traditions are traditions, and he’s just Great Prince, but Jongdae would have been the only person in that room to know the truth about what had happened, and it would have meant everything for Sehun. He cannot say that either. Jongdae is to be appointed as _his_ Royal Beast Rider the day after his crowning only, and Sehun can’t really ask anything of him before that. 

“How did you get to my window?” he says instead. 

“You’ll know soon enough. Are you ready?” 

Sehun frowns. 

“Ready?” he asks. 

Jongdae’s lips curl into the shadow of a smile - more of a grin, something a little less than human but a little more than just beastly.

“For justice,” he says, his voice low and a snarl caught at the end of his sentence. 

It would have made Sehun very uncomfortable two days ago, now he merely watches with eagerness and thinks: this is the only man who knows the truth. 

It was scary before, now it is promising. 

“I am,” he says. Then adds, “I have to be back in time for dinner.”

It makes Jongdae laugh, loud and rough. It crinkles up the constellations around his eyes and wrecks the usual melody of his voice, but it’s pleasant. Not unlike the loud chaos of red diamond mines, of workers breaking out the rare gemstones off the cave walls – it’s rattling and noisy, but it feels precious. Sehun has grown up in a kingdom that thrives on quarries and rough materials turned into hard currency, it’s in his blood to pause and admire beauty where there was just harshness before, so he does just that. He tries not to see his words as the craftsperson’s hands that turned roughness into grace, thinking it would be unfair to Jongdae. It is his laugh, after all. 

“I’ll see what I can do then,” Jongdae says, vestiges of his laughter lurking behind his words. “Now I have to ask you… please do not scream.”

“Uh?” is all Sehun can say before Jongdae pushes him towards the window. Jongdae’s palm crashes against his back, the strength of the shove more than enough for Sehun to stumble with no hope of recovering his balance. His hips bump against his window ledge and it sends him toppling over. Time stretches out as the solid floor under his feet fades away and emptiness rushes to get a hold of him. 

He gasps, the hint of a terrified scream dying out as air leaves his lungs. There’s a patch of sky in the corner of his field vision, and he can see the foot of the tower of his study. He braces for the rush, for the fear and the acceleration he is doomed to once his fall really starts, but nothing comes. He remains there, suspended in nothingness, feet helplessly beating the air and arms stretched out to fight against gravity. 

“Well done, girl,” Jongdae says, somewhere behind him. 

Sehun looks over his shoulder, aghast, and finds Jongdae crouched on his window ledge – who does he think _he is_?! – with content and mischief written all over his face. He gestures at Sehun to look up, which Sehun does as his heart somersault within his chest. Orage is perched up on the tower’s pointy roof, the talons ending her hind legs easily cutting through the slate for support and her huge body leaning over the edge. Her eyes, blue, _oh_ so blue, are stuck to Sehun as she takes him in. Her long tail is curled around his waist, her hold secure and strong. She could probably crush him, if she wanted to. 

“Please,” Sehun croaks. “Have mercy.”

Jongdae laughs again, and the sound is quickly swept away by the light wind. The audacity, seriously. Sehun would very much like to scowl, but between the ground under him and the muscles of Orage’s tail he can feel roll and move against him, it is very hard to focus on Jongdae. 

“She likes you, you know,” Jongdae says. He tenses on the ledge, and Sehun would be amazed (if he wasn’t so scared) at the way Jongdae just jumps through the air to catch Orage’s tail. “She thinks you look like a little mouse.” 

Jongdae buries his hand in the golden feathers, and he apparently finds something to hold on to because he then wraps his right leg around the tail, just above Sehun. 

“Well, I am pretty sure _everyone_ looks like a mouse to her,” Sehun says. 

Jongdae chuckles. 

“You’re not wrong.” He glances at Orage who nods, in the slow and deliberate way only great creatures do. “Hold on,” he adds, and when he looks down, Sehun sees his eyes have already started the shift into that deep ocean blue. 

“Oh no, please do not –” Sehun’s weak protests die out on his tongue as Orage spreads her wings. 

He whimpers and scrambles to find something to grab as a waft of air birthed by the first flap of Orage’s wings ruffles through his hair. Jongdae reaches out and takes his hand. The coldness of his skin dilutes the fear beating loudly in Sehun’s chest, so he holds on tight. Jongdae smiles, with the rarest one of his smiles, the one meant to be a secret. Sehun’s heart jumps into his throat.

“We will not let go of you,” Jongdae says. 

There’s an echo in his voice, as though someone else was repeating his words slightly out of beat, and the blue in his eyes is piercing. Far above his head, Orage is also staring at Sehun, her wings beating the air at her sides. The dazzle of the sun against the gold feathers makes it difficult to see, and the only relief is when her wings pass before the sun and eclipse the kaleidoscope of golden rays. She shines, but darkness blooms under her, and it swallows most of the tower, most of the greenery around. Her eyes remain glued to Sehun, and they seem to be moving, like the surface of a large body of water would, ripples after ripples hinting at a swarm of life hidden from view. He has seen that look in Jongdae’s eyes so many times before. He knows what she’s waiting for. 

He gives her a sharp nod for permission, and she looks up. Her muscles tense, she bends her hind legs, and with another flap of her wings, she takes off. 

Sehun screams – or, he thinks he does. Jongdae’s hand is so tight around his that he can’t feel his fingers but he isn’t one to complain. Somehow, his brain registers the sound of the letters in his study as they’re blown away by the large gust of wind, but he struggles to make out his heartbeat or even the sound of his breathing. The ground is quickly retreating under them, the wind is howling into his ears, soon, Jongdae’s cold skin isn’t enough anymore. 

“I will fall,” he whimpers. 

He cannot even hear himself, but he knows the words have been said. The deities have heard him, and they will stretch their long fingers, pierce the sky and toy with Sehun’s fate. They’ll force him out of Orage’s hold, and laugh at him, laugh at his fears as he’ll plummet to his death. His soul will be stuck in the air forever and – 

“Never,” Jongdae says. 

He slides down the tail, feathers ruffling under his touch, until he reaches Sehun’s level. He wraps his legs around him, pulls him closer then slides his free arm in his back. Orage’s tail slightly loosens, but Jongdae’s hold on him is strong, firm. Sehun looks up. Jongdae’s eyes are warm, deep, and his head is tilted on the side, his expression curious. 

Sehun’s last thought before he blacks out is of deities and a man who is half man, half beast. He does not want to know what obscure and terrible powers Jongdae’s gods have, does not want to imagine the fingers who moulded Jongdae’s people, but if he had to guess, he would picture the body of an animal with the eyes of a human and movements like a bird’s. He thinks he can see them, but darkness swallows him and all that is left on the back of his eyelids is the faint silhouette of Jongdae staring at him. 

“You know you should not be laughing at me,” Sehun says. “I will be your King.” 

“You will,” Jongdae snorts. “But you are not yet and thus I am giving myself the right to laugh at you all I want.” 

Sehun snorts. He still feels like the ground under his soles is moving, rising and falling like waves would and he’s seafoam moving at the will of the currents. According to Jongdae, he only blacked out for a few minutes, not even long enough that he would miss Orage’s landing, but his stomach still feels like the ordeal was too much for him. Every time he remembers how small the trees looked from up there, bile burns the back of his throat. _Never again_ , he thinks as he plants his feet on the ground and tries to feel its solidity; but Jongdae keeps snickering and it definitely helps with the vertigo. If gravity refuses to help Sehun’s balance, maybe he could use Jongdae’s chuckles as anchors. 

“I’ll make you pay, eventually,” Sehun grumbles.

Jongdae throws him a look full of mischief but he doesn’t answer. He turns his attention to Orage, now lazily lying in the meadow she has landed in and makes his way to her visible side. She lifts her wing when he reaches her, allowing him into her personal space without a flinch and even closes her eyes when he buries his hands into her fur, half patting, half searching. It’s so bizarre to see a creature that looks so much like a fox, like a very _wild_ fox behave in such a domestic way. Sehun wouldn’t go as far as saying Orage is a perfectly well tamed pet though – he may not know a lot about her and Jongdae’s people, but he knows enough to be aware of how insulting, and false, this would be. But there’s a softness about her he cannot refute. Then again, it might just be a result of Jongdae’s proximity. 

“So,” Jongdae starts as he pulls on something and reveals a harness originally concealed by Orage’s fur. “I have asked the healer about the herbs he used, using the pretence of them not smelling like they used to.” 

“He must have loved to hear that,” Sehun mumbles as he carefully steps closer, pulled in by curiosity. He had never realised Orage was wearing a harness before, and the delicate work is catching his eyes. 

Jongdae glances at him, amused. “His heart got really fast, and he refused to look me in the eyes after.”

Sehun is pretty sure the healer wouldn’t have met Jongdae’s eyes before, especially if Jongdae barged into his study with blue irises and the start of a snarl hanging from his lips, but he doesn’t say it. Instead he nods knowingly, as though sharing the amusement in Jongdae’s words. In reality, he mostly feels sorry about the healer. He probably never had interacted with Jongdae before. 

“But he told me there was nothing wrong about his concoctions, that they were quite popular and he was used to making them,” Jongdae continues. He is now holding a tight ball of fabric in his hand, one he retrieved from the harness. It looks very cheap but Jongdae still unfolds it with care. “He did tell me he bought some of his herbs at the night market.” 

This catches Sehun’s attention. He looks away from the fabric – which turned out to be a long cape – and stares at Jongdae, finally understanding what the latter is _really_ telling him. 

“You suspected him.” 

“His herbs are the culprit, they killed your mother, didn’t they? There was cursed magic in them,” Jongdae says, very matter-of-factly. He hands Sehun the cape. “Here, put this on.” 

“You really thought he could have done it…?” 

Sehun slightly winces when he hears his own voice, small and unsure, but he keeps a straight face when Jongdae’s focus comes back on him. His eyes are dark again, but he still feels bigger than his body, as though some parts of him had been scattered in the air around them. Orage is looking at Sehun too, he can catch her eyes from the corner of his, like two half-moon shaped topaz, and the scrutiny feels worse than the mocking looks from earlier. 

“It would have been better,” Jongdae says with caution. His syllables are slow and his speech is clear, careful. Sehun feels even smaller. “His reasons could have gone from jealousy to mere vileness. It was not him though, which means that, just like his herbs, he was a mean to an end for someone. It also is very likely that the murderer is someone you know.” 

Sehun swallows, unable to move. Long gone is the memory of his own body flying; he is lead now, sinking deep and deeper into the earth until all he can breathe is dirt and soil. 

“You’ll be wishing it was him soon enough,” Jongdae adds with a soft voice. “When we’ll know… you’ll be wishing it was just the healer.” 

He slides the cape over Sehun’s shoulders and smoothes it out with the palm of his hands. The material is rough and tatty, worn thin on several places, but it’s long enough that it drapes all over Sehun’s body – which was the goal, he supposes. Orage whines softly behind him. She stretched her neck so that her head would be right behind him, the tip of her nose almost to his back. He has never seen her that close and it should have terrified him – the thickness of her whiskers, the power of her breathing only, and the darkness that trickles into her eyes and mutes their blueness – but he finds his mind too numb for fear. He reaches out and lays his hand on her snout. 

“I have traced the merchant he bought his herbs from,” Jongdae says, behind him. Orage’s eyes are now a few shades darker than usual, and black keeps spreading in her irises. “We will question him. The coat is meant to keep your identity secret, so you’ll have to keep the hood on.” 

“What about you?” Sehun asks. Orage’s snout is wet against his palm, cold. Something low and distant, like the sound of thunder rises slowly in her chest. He isn’t afraid. “Won’t they recognise you?” 

“I am counting on that. It’s easier to tell the truth when you’re scared shitless.” 

Sehun turns his head towards Jongdae, and he finds the bluest of eyes looking back at him. 

“I am no longer sworn to anyone,” Jongdae explains with the shadow of a smile. “I was their Queen’s before and that could justify my presence to some extent. Now I’m just too different.” He lifts his arms, as if offering himself to whoever would want to look at him – and Sehun looks – and his posture is defying, but also sad. “No one is going to make a conversation out of whatever I chose to do with my time.”

“I would,” Sehun says in earnest. 

Jongdae lowers his arms with a chuckle but of this, he says nothing more. Instead, he frets about Sehun’s outfit a little more, pulls on the cape here and there so that none of his delicate pieces of clothing can be seen. He looks at Sehun’s hair for a bit but doesn’t attempt anything; instead he pulls up the hood and emphasises on its importance. _No one will take you for a commoner with that hair_ he says, and Sehun is suddenly terribly mindful of his own hairstyle – shorter than most, tied low behind his head, and well-kept with oils and regular washes. He’s walked the streets outside of the castle before – countless times – and he knows he’ll stand out like a sore thumb. 

“Just stay by my side and stay quiet,” Jongdae says after Sehun fidgets with the hood for the third time. “No one will look at you, and if they do, it’ll be just a glance.” He groans and catches Sehun’s hands before he can pull on the hood _again_ “Stop that. Do you think I would have taken you with me if I thought you were in danger?” 

“No?” Sehun says, and it sounds like _I don’t know_ , which earns him another one of Jongdae’s piercing looks. 

He grumbles and grabs Sehun’s hand to pull him forward. Orage lets out a little whine and, glancing over his shoulder and stumbling through the long grass, Sehun looks at her huge shiny eyes following him and Jongdae to the edge of the forest. Even after they’ve entered the woods, she remains a long shadow on the other side, her silhouette cut in smaller pieces by the trees swallowing them. It takes her several minutes to disappear completely, to merge with the moss and red leaves around them. 

“She doesn’t like to be left behind,” Jongdae eventually says. 

Sehun looks back at him. Jongdae hasn’t let go of his sleeve, but his attention remains on the path ahead of them. He looks stiffer than usual, his gait fast but graceful. He carries part of Orage in his eyes, his irises vivid and his pupils thinner, and the lingering scowl on his face is wild. It seems to Sehun that Orage is not the only one bothered by the separation, but he – most wisely – chooses not to say anything. Instead, he focuses on not tripping over some traitorous branch and lets Jongdae guide him through the forest. 

The walk to town is a short one – easily less than an hour. They enter it like every traveller would, by the south. Towering the small, crooked buildings is the castle in the north, its towers built from the peculiar black stone of the kingdom. Stone is, in fact, everywhere. It sings tribute to the richness of their lands, mines and quarries, and whispers of their history. Stanvaeld, Sehun’s kingdom (meaning, literally, _a well of stone_ in Oldish), has built its wealth on the trade of the precious gemstones hidden in its belly, while its artisans learned to craft and master the particularities of the rock they dug out searching for diamonds. It’s deep underneath the ground that black rock was first found, many Kings and Queens ago, and it remains plentiful in the darkness of their caves. Black houses, dark roads, sombre tools, it is a malleable yet strong material. 

_There’s magic deep, deep down the earth_ , his mother would tell him, her voice mysterious and her eyes proud and filled with so much love for her kingdom and history. _It was given to your ancestors to thank them for their hearts, and it has taken care of us ever since._

Magic, Sehun thinks as he tries hard to look like he belongs in the sinuous streets. Magic that makes the black stones swallow heat during winter so the houses can radiate warmth in the dead of night, magic that makes the material glow when the moon is high and full, magic, still, that makes it a strong shield against weapons that are not of steel or iron. Magic they pay back with their love, their care and their pride. His mother’s bedtime stories take over his mind and he forgets his discomfort for the much more soothing love he feels for the people around him. They work their own magic with their hands and their everyday life, building, creating, selling – being the heart of Stanvaeld, and protecting them will always be his most sacred duty. 

He doesn’t feel so out of breath, right now. It’s noisy around him, full of life. His mother’s death almost loses the finality that’s been weighing down on him. Almost. 

“How long has it been?” Jongdae asks. Sehun glances at him, confused. “Since the last time you came into town?”

“Too long,” Sehun says. 

Jongdae smiles at him, soft like only a wild wolf could be, all teeth and sharpness, but it warms Sehun’s heart all the same. So close to the heart of the kingdom, the town is thriving. Trade, traveller business and work for artisans is aplenty, and it shows. The streets are clean and the people roaming them look busy, but not unhappy. There are no beggars, and no fear in the townspeople’s eyes when the city guards on patrol walk by. Most of this was accomplished by Sehun’s mother, and he resolutely promises himself to live up to her legacy. He quickly mumbles a quiet prayer to the deities: with their ever-watching eyes as his witnesses, he will make his mother’s soul proud. Stanvaeld will remain the jewellery she crafted it into. 

“We’ll have to come back,” Jongdae says after another turn. They’ve entered a tightly-cobbled street and houses have turned to shops. “At night. It’s even better at night, when they light it all up and people are singing, dancing… I like it the most at night. I will show you.” 

Jongdae walks in a straight line, his eyes staring ahead of him, and his mere presence has built an invisible wall around him: people are quickly trotting to the other side of the street, some even come to a halt to then turn around just to avoid being in his proximity. There’s a wide circle of empty space around them and Jongdae is the epicentre. Sehun struggles to imagine him mingling with the crowds at night, or, rather fails at picturing the said crowd swallowing Jongdae like it would swallow anyone else. 

“I would like that,” he says anyway. 

He shuffles closer to Jongdae and pretends he doesn’t see the townspeople’s hurried steps as they press themselves against the various shopfronts to leave the centre of the street empty. It’s like Jongdae is swimming against the current, and water is trickling on either side of him, moved against the stone by the power of his presence. He is feared in the castle too, avoided by most, and the respect he has earned by appearing at the Queen’s side is fragile and nervous. Down here, Jongdae carries no link to the Crown. He is a legend, a story mothers and fathers tell their kids by the fire when it’s dark outside and they want to warn about dangers. Sehun is starting to realise that Jongdae was right to think his presence would be the only intimidation and threat they’ll need when interrogating the herb merchant.

Jongdae suddenly grabs Sehun by the hand to pull him towards the right side of the street, to a small, slightly crooked shop. A woman gasps and runs out of their way. Silence grows in the street, dense and uncomfortable, and Sehun’s ephemeral peacefulness quickly dissipates. His fingers tickle with the need to fidget with his hood – is it _really_ hiding him well? – but he lets Jongdae guide him. They soon find themselves in front of a narrow, wooden door whose surface is covered with delicate etchings, reminiscent of plants, flowers and herbs Sehun knows nothing about. He barely has time to register the huge letters spelling _apothecary_ engraved straight into the stone above the door, the carvings highlighted with golden paint, before Jongdae is shoving him inside the shop.

It’s an extravagant shop. It looks like any apothecary shop would look like, and it smells like one too, but amongst the darkness of the stone, and the rawness of the wood, there are a few gold highlights here and there. And words, so many words, stretching over tiny drawers, on old-looking labels, delicate letters saying this and that, singing the praise of this and that, but mostly speaking highly of the man who wrote them, the man who is standing behind the counter, the man who obviously knows how to write and read when so many here in town would only see gracious curves in his writing. It’s an arrogant shop. 

“Good day to you,” the apothecary says in a singing voice. His face is round and pale, and his eyes are small, but quick. They gauge his new customers, very obviously listing what he could sell to them – something from the glass bowl filled with herbs and flowers in front of him maybe? _For wrist pains_ , the label says. Or could it be the various tubes, stained by the seeds and leaves kept inside them? _For longing minds_. His eyes stop on Sehun’s hood and they squint slightly at him, as though trying to pierce the darkness hiding his face. He glances at a small cloche covering tiny pouches closed with a leather lace and whose content seems to be faintly glowing. _Short-lived magic._

But then, he takes in Jongdae, and his posture radically changes. Gone is the wide smile and twinkle in his eyes. 

“Beast Rider,” he says, solemnly. 

Sehun glances at Jongdae. Has the apothecary ever seen him before? Would he have missed the bestiality on Jongdae’s face, even if he hadn’t? He looks so different, but Sehun wouldn’t be able to pinpoint what is so unique about him. His humanity is altered, but is it because of the otherworldly blueness of his eyes? Is it the sneer on his lips, the frown sharpening his gaze? It’s in everything, Sehun decides. Even in the way he slightly parts his lips, their pinkness clashing with the white of his canines. Jongdae has built his own façade when they entered the shop and there’s so much of him now that screams of danger. 

_Danger, danger_ the line of his shoulders says. _Danger, danger_ chants the loose fabric of his robes as it helps the illusion of Jongdae’s body being made of steel. No, no one could ever mistake him for something he isn’t, but knowing what he truly is is a whole different story. 

“The night market,” Jongdae says. “You were there last week.” 

“The night market? I would never!” 

Jongdae grins. 

“Oh, I think you would. I think you have, quite often at that.”

The man frowns, but he is smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The night market, although illegal, is rarely a priority for the authorities in town. It’s a black market whose location is kept secret by the few who are aware of its existence, and who profit from it. It has grown quite a lot these past few years, but every time the city guards found it and stopped it, it just spurted right back up a few weeks after, like a vermin infestation badly taken care of. It’s common knowledge amongst the townspeople that everyone visits the night market at least once, whether it is for goods they couldn’t find otherwise, or more common ones but at a cheaper price. The night market also means no questions from the seller about your intention, and no inquiries from the customer about the origin of the product – it’s secrecy and privacy that the stalls of the marketplace, with their curious eyes and love for gossip, cannot guarantee. 

But it is one thing to know you are no exception, and a whole other to admit out loud you have broken the law to the Royal Beast Rider, Sehun supposes. It is quite obvious the apothecary won’t confess despite the growing anguish in his eyes. He expects worse to happen to him if he does, and Jongdae surely looks like he is _ready_ for worse. 

“Uhm,” Sehun clears his throat. 

The apothecary’s eyes dart to him. He seems as afraid of Sehun as he is of Jongdae. What is his mind imagining is under the hood? Another Beast Rider? One is already terrifying enough, but… two?  
 _Perfect_.

“I saw you,” Sehun says. He is grateful for the darkness in the shop and Jongdae’s grand idea of a disguise for him. “I was there too and I saw you. You sold herbs to the Royal Healer.” 

The apothecary’s expression flakes away. Sehun feels Jongdae’s gaze on him but he keeps his own attention riveted onto the man before him. It’s so quiet in here, the liveliness of the street completely engulfed by the thickness of the black stone walls, and he fears for a short second that they will both hear his heart thundering in his chest. Jongdae probably already does, but he sees no superior smile on the merchant’s face, so that must mean he hasn’t messed it all up yet. 

“We do not care about your activities at the night market,” he adds. 

_Jongdae does not speak like that_ , he thinks. He is so ridiculous. Yet the apothecary has stopped standing straight as he first did when he recognised Jongdae, as though he had been trying to assert some sort of superiority with his bigger height. He looks small now, and his quick blinking and the way he plays with his heavily adorned fingers make him look like a rodent. And Sehun hates him so suddenly, and with such fierceness and eagerness that it knocks the air out of his lungs. 

Could it be? That this arrogant man, with his jewels and gold-covered sign, is the one who ended his mother’s life?

“We don’t,” Jongdae groans. 

He is angry at Sehun, and his anger is almost tangible, so much so that Sehun would probably feel it deep into his guts if he wasn’t already furious himself. His blood has turned to fire, and he takes a first tentative step towards his target, intent on giving justice to the everlasting shudder curling around his spine ever since he saw his mother, pale and very dead, crowned by her own blood in her bed. Jongdae is quicker – of course he is – and when he steps forwards, he does it with such swiftness, the eyes of the apothecary struggle to keep up. 

“The herbs,” Jongdae says. “Tell me about the herbs.” 

_Yes_ , Sehun mentally begs. _Do tell_. He has never loved the wildness of Jondgae’s manners more than he does at this moment. It’s the oldest game in the world. Prey versus predator. It took mere seconds for Jongdae to strip this man off the noble respect and exaggerated politeness of the high society he is so proud to be a member of, to leave only survival instinct behind. His survival is in the hands of the being now watching him with icy blue eyes, and he knows it. There’s nothing civilised left in him – if baring his throat and rolling on the floor could grant his survival, he would do it in the blink of an eye. 

“Is… is there something wrong with the herbs?” he asks. “If so, then I assure you it was not my intention… The Royal Healer needed not to send you to my door, I will pay him and some for his trouble. I did not mean to… I bought them to some nomad merchant, and he had assured me of their potency, I –”

“Who?” Sehun asks. It is his turn to take a step towards the counter. “The seller? Who was he? Did you know him?”

Jongdae full on _growls_ , and the apothecary whimpers. The growl was not meant for him, but he’ll always remember it as that, as a sound so inhuman it was like being bitten just to hear it come from a human-looking throat. 

“I… I did not. He was wearing a long cloak. It was dyed a dark yellow, but that’s all I… It… I could not see his face. He told me he had healing herbs and he needed the coin, so I bought them and he went away. I had never seen him before that.” 

“And you sold those herbs to the Healer after that,” Jongdae says. The apothecary is quick to nod his agreement. “Did you know he was to come to the night market?” 

“I knew,” the apothecary confesses. Long gone is his resistance. “He always comes around the same time. I only bought those herbs because I knew I could sell them right after – and at a much better price. They were very cheap.”

He is whimpering, cowering. If he thought it would save his life, he’d crawl on the floor and ask the deities to wrap their blackened fingers around his throat, he’d offer his soul to Jongdae – he’d do _anything_. That’s what his eyes, so wide and crazy, are telling them. This is not the behaviour of a man who killed a Queen. He is an opportunist who has been spoiled with way too many opportunities, but that is all he is. The realisation turns Sehun’s insides to molten metal. 

“He didn’t do it,” he says in a whisper, but to his lungs, it feels like a scream. He turns towards Jongdae. “Look at him. He doesn’t know anything. He didn’t do it.” 

It wasn’t the Royal Healer and it wasn’t his supplier, and his mother is still dead, her body still cold, her blood now clotted and frozen. And this man, with his loathsome face and arrogance, gets to live his life in his terrible, terrible shop. He lives, he breathes, and Sehun’s mother is dead, gone, never to be seen or heard again. 

“By the deities,” Sehun groans. He can’t breathe. He presses a hand against his chest with the faint hope of calming down the erratic beating of his heart. “It’s not him. It’s not him.” 

“I…. I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” the apothecary says, and Sehun would laugh at the confusion on his face if he could, but he’s suffocating. The shop smells of too many things all at once and none of them pleasant – mustiness and varnish, herbs and too little fresh air – and it burns the back of his throat. He lets out a small whimper and turns around. It takes him barely more than three strides to rush out of the shop, but it’s still too much. He flings himself at the door and his shoulder crashes against the wooden surface as it gives in and swings open. Pain blooms through his muscle and forces the air out of his lungs. When he finally stumbles through the door and onto the street, he half-breathes out, half-screams in a crude attempt at pushing out the knot in the back of his throat.

Fortunately, the street is still empty. Word of the mouth travels fast in the city and talks about the Royal Beast Rider’s visit to the apothecary is probably all over town. No one gets to see Sehun tripping over the cobbled street, and when he eventually caves in and surrenders to the tide rising inside of him, he welcomes the emptiness around him. He falls to his knees, grabs a handful of dust, of pebbles stuck between cobblestones and throws it at the shop. 

“That damn sign!” 

It doesn’t even hit the gold letters, but it does rain all over Jongdae who just stepped out of the shop. He winces, glances at the sky then at Sehun, still on his knees and out of breath.

“He’s an asshole but he’s no killer,” Sehun snaps. Oh the anger, the fire burning inside of him. “Have you seen him cowering like a wounded pup inside? Your trail has hit a dead-end, Jongdae.” 

“Do not do that, ever again,” Jongdae says. Something about the stillness of his voice dims the red hues tainting Sehun’s vision. When he doesn’t answer, Jongdae adds, “You were to keep quiet. I asked you, and you agreed.”

“I was only intending to help, and –”

“No,” Jongdae says. “You did not help. You thought it clever to act like you were like me, and you did not think of the consequences.” 

The street isn’t empty anymore. The stillness of Jongdae’s voice is just a trick – similar to the unbothered waters of a swamp, it hides darkness and danger. His shadow is elongated against the shop’s façade, and larger than it should be. His arms stretch over the dark stone, until it strips his silhouette off its humanity. _Orage is here_ , Sehun realises. He’s seeing shadow wings and fangs and claws. 

“It could have been him, and he could have been angry. Are you really not aware of what they would do to me if they could? Do not. Do that. _Ever again_.” 

Biting, groaning. They stare at the other for a while, Sehun on his knees and Jongdae with the intensity of a beast that isn’t even here. 

“I will not … My mother was killed,” Sehun says, and he tries to keep his voice steady as he does, tries to fight back the tears. “I will not _not_ try to give her soul justice, Jongdae. You can’t ask me to do that.” 

“I am not. I am asking you to be careful and to listen to me,” Jongdae says, and his tone brings Sehun to another conversation they had, barely more than a day ago, but that already seems to be a distant memory. _Do you trust me?_ Jongdae had asked, and he had done it with the exact same look in his eyes. Hunger, anger, eagerness, Sehun wouldn’t be able to say. Maybe there isn’t a word for it yet. “I am asking you to trust that I know better,” Jongdae adds. His shadow has shrunk back to something Sehun’s mind can fathom again, but there is no mistaking the power sleeping in the blue of his eyes. “Your mother will never forgive me if something were to happen to you.” A pause. “And I don’t think I would either.” 

Sehun frowns. He wants to say, _she isn’t here to forgive and be mad_ , but he doesn’t. Instead, he just nods, short and sharp. 

“What now?” he says, his voice hoarse. He wipes his eyes, tries to swallow the tremble in his throat, loses and decides he doesn’t care. “What do we do now?” 

Jongdae walks up to him, grabs his arm and pulls him up. His proximity is crushing, but freeing. There’s some sort of content in being so close to him that forces everything else out of focus. Sehun forgets his tears, the knot in his throat, even the apothecary and his stupid sign, and his mind fills with Jongdae’s eyes, the stars on his cheekbones and the darkness of his hair. 

“I don’t want to go back yet,” Sehun confesses. 

“Then we do not,” Jongdae says. 

His breath is warm against Sehun’s chin, but his body radiates coldness. Sehun wonders what it would feel like, if he were to lift his hand and cup Jongdae’s cheek with it. Would it be as cold as it was, when they were flying and fear paralysed him? Jongdae’s skin looks so smooth, so firm, like it is stretched to its maximum capacity over the angles of his face. Sehun has seen him laugh, but if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have believed it possible. Even now, he finds himself doubtful: could his skin really crinkle up without tearing up? Would he laugh again, if Sehun asked him? It would be such a shame to miss the opportunity to witness it from up close. 

As though reading his mind, Jongdae smiles. It makes some of the stars merge together and what used to be constellations are now dense clouds of stars. Something whirls around in his eyes, like a coil of cloud. 

“Orage wants to show you one of her favourite places,” he says. 

Sehun groans. 

“Do we have to fly there?”

Jongdae tilts his head back at a slight angle, and erupts into laughter.   
It is beautiful. 

“Qing will be so pissed that I am missing dinner,” Sehun says. 

Jongdae glances at him, a lopsided smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It is a short glimpse and he quickly resumes to his admiration of the landscape before them, as though he did not care for Sehun’s words or their implications – and he probably doesn’t. It makes it easier for Sehun to let go of the worries as well, makes it easier to forget the ever-looming image of the Crystal Throne in his mind. He looks away from Jongdae’s sharp profile and focuses his attention on the rest of the world before him. 

They’re sitting at the top of an ancient quarry, on the higher level, with their legs dangling off the edge. Orage is playing beneath them, her wings curled on her sides and her huge claws digging through long-abandoned tunnels for nice boulders to occupy herself with. The sun is setting down already and sunlight is slowly trickling out of the huge hole in the earth leaving Orage’s dark fur to merge with the black soil. Soon, what will be left of her will be gold feathers here and there and always the icy blue of her eyes – which no night, no matter how dark, could ever overpower. 

Days are getting colder and shorter, and soon, the servants will be sealing off the windows of the less used rooms in the castle, fires will burn in every hearth, and the seamster and his team will join effort with the tanner to make warmer shoes for everyone working within the castle walls. Stone floors are unforgivable with feet once winter settles in. Light will come much later in the day and flee so much quicker, and it’ll be the time for songs and games in the common room rather than parties in the gardens. Jewelleries and accessories will be forgotten, put aside in favour of heavier cloaks and better coverage in clothing. 

Soon, it will snow, Sehun thinks. He can smell it already. The mountains in the distance have disappeared, swallowed away by mist and fog. Colours will be watered down until all is left is white and black (and icy blue); soon, but not yet. Now, the sunset is giving them an eruption of pigments across the sky and it is only for them to see, so Sehun watches. He cannot remember the last time he stopped to watch the sun dive under the horizon line.

“My people believe the sun is the eye of a great being who likes to watch us,” Jongdae says. “When the day ends, we watch it as it sets down and we thank it for its care and attention.” He pauses and smiles softly. “The things it must know, the things it must have seen… It makes you wonder, don’t you think?” 

Sehun considers the tale for a short second before a whole bouquet of voices invades his mind with angry intonations. He hears tutors after tutors ramble about astronomy and planets and science in things they can’t even see with their naked eyes and it is all too easy to imagine what they would say to such a thing. Sehun considers himself to be more pragmatic: it is hard to defend something you cannot see. What he can see though is the emotion dwelling in Jongdae’s eyes as the sun’s last ray of light lands on his face. He will not argue with that. 

“What about the moon?” he asks. 

Jongdae glances at him. Beneath them, Orage is stomping the ground with her front paws, raising clouds of dark dust that curl around her legs with every leap she takes. She whines with excitement when part of the floor crumbles under her weight and rough treatment, and proceeds to shove her snout inside the now dug-out tunnel. 

“The moon…” Jongdae starts, but he stops and looks into Sehun’s face. 

They may be alone and far from the castle, Sehun still is the Prince, and Jongdae still is… well, a Beast Rider. His people keep their secret with wariness, and Sehun can tell it’s exactly what Jongdae is now doing. 

“Very well,” he says with a little smile. He tries not to show much of his disappointment, but curiosity takes the best of him, and his mind jumps to another question. “I had never seen you with your hair up before today.”

At this, Jongdae smiles, and it smoothes out his face. 

“I had never seen you with a diamond sewn to your jacket before.” 

Sehun frowns as he glances at said diamond. It’s small, much smaller than the Red Throne, but it still lights up when the sun hits its surface, exploding into tiny little shards that dance on Sehun’s chest. When he looks up to Jongdae again, his eyes are immediately drawn to the red ribbon he used to tie his hair up. It clashes against the darkness of his hair, and the fabric looks silky and soft, delicate compared to the wildness of Jongdae’s curls. 

_Oh._

“It’s… it’s for my mother?” Sehun asks. 

Jongdae watches him in silence before letting out a dry chuckle, and even though it forces his lips into a grin, it is the farthest thing from mirth Sehun has ever seen. 

“It is so funny to me,” Jongdae says. “The way you honour the dead. You gather in a cold room every morning and only a few privileged ones get to wear the thing you use to honour them. Then your grief is given a deadline, and you are told each day will focus on a specific year of their life and you ride along with it. Then it’s suddenly over and you can move on and occupy the space they used to occupy.” Jongdae’s voice is rough on his last syllables but it has nothing to do with Orage groaning through his chest – not this time. His eyes are a wall of darkness against the sun’s light, and the emotions that flicker all over his face are of a different wildness than the one coming from his beast. “She lived a life that was full, she got to see many moons and many suns, and she said many words, sang many songs. You cannot fit that in forty five days. You wouldn’t have enough of one hundred days to pay tribute to everything she was, and it’s… it seems so wrong to me.” He pauses, out of breath, and his expression breaks a little. “It feels so wrong.” 

Sehun is completely frozen. The sun is so low now that the horizon line is already gnawing at its sphere, and its light has lost its orangey value. It’s gold now, gold raining down on them, gold making gems out of them. He knows it will only last for a few minutes, because darkness will spill all over the sky any minute now. It seems to him that Jongdae is the epicentre of the phenomenon, that the night will start within him before overpowering the rest of the world around them. So much darkness and depth.

He lifts a hand and goes to touch the red ribbon. Jongdae’s eyes follow his fingers, round and watery, and when Sehun’s fingers finally brush against the fabric – it _is_ silk – Jongdae closes his eyes. 

“Please,” Sehun says, low and unsure. “Tell me.” 

Jongdae slightly lowers his face so Sehun’s fingers can follow the ribbon up to his hair, up to the curls that still manage to look wild and untamed despite the bun they’ve been tied into. The sun is now so low that this slight angle is all it takes for the light to trickle away from his face, and for darkness to claim dominion over Jondgae’s traits. The quarry beneath them now looks like a deep hole filled with dark water. 

“When we lose someone, we bury them with gifts. We make a cloak out of their companion’s feathers and they are tucked in it. We don’t count days, we don’t… time isn’t welcome in our grief. If we do share memories and songs, tears and pain, it is never planned. No ceremonies, no deadline. Loss isn’t something you once carry then put down when you choose to. At times, it feels like it carries you more than you do. We tie our hair, because we’re sad and there’s no freedom in sadness. No one flies, and it’s just… it’s hard to breathe, and it takes so much to break out of this cage of longing and sadness and… it is quite a beautiful thing to do too, to be able to find beauty in things again when you have lost so much. A beautiful tribute as well. It is the legacy of those we lost.” 

Jongdae looks up at him. Gold is fading away already, and the sun is no more than half a circle now. 

“You are to care for her body tonight before they burn her, is that so?” 

Sehun nods. He doesn’t trust himself to speak, not when he is that close to Jongdae and even closer to his grief, with his fingers running through his hair, and his eyes filled with tears his words have created. 

“Could you…?” 

He doesn’t say more but he does raise a hand towards his hair. Worried he might be about to push him away, Sehun takes his hand out of his hair first. Jongdae catches it as he does so, and his fingers wrap around his wrist to keep it in mid-air. With his second hand, he goes to take a golden feather out of the tangle of his hair. It comes easily and it leaves behind a tight curl poking out of Jongdae’s hairstyle as though it had been reluctant to part with the ornament. Jongdae has always worn feathers in his hair, sometimes he adds beads to the curls, braids some strands together and hides a fine piece of yellow leather in it – but he never took out the feathers. 

He presses the feather against Sehun’s palm, and Sehun closes his fingers around it. It’s soft and sturdy at the same time, much bigger than the feather of any bird he is familiar with, and its colour is unique and vivid. It feels much more precious than the red diamond he wears on his jacket. 

“I will,” he says. 

Jongdae watches him with a little smile. He lets go of Sehun’s wrist and turns his attention to the pit of darkness threatening to overspill beneath them. Orage is nothing but a faint silhouette deep down, a slight glow coming from some of her feathers and her eyes, radiating their own light, the only thing breaking the night apart. The obscurity doesn’t seem to bother her and from what little Sehun can see, she seems to be cleaning the feathers under her right wing. He barely makes out the bobbing of her head as she does so and mistakes most of her body for the dark soil of the quarry. Qing will definitely be mad – but wasn’t she the one who told him to take more time for his own emotions and feelings? Oh, and he is feeling plenty up here, with the gold feather in his hand and Jongdae’s shoulder pressed against his. 

“Jongdae,” he starts, then stops. He feels Jongdae shift against him and it’s too easy to imagine his eyes searching Sehun’s face. Sehun doesn’t look up. “Can you… Would you come to the Red Diamond Ceremony if I asked you?” 

_I know I’m not supposed to ask you anything – or to expect anything from you for that matter_ , he wants to add, but the night is swallowing them whole and there’s a gold feather glowing in his hand, and he knows it wouldn’t be fair to say it out loud. He knows whatever they are sharing right now isn’t about loyalty or tradition, and he might not know how to define it, but he feels less lonely for it. He also knows there are letters waiting for him, with cold empty words, and a little brother he has never really talked to, dozens of diamonds waiting to be stitched onto his jacket and a terrible secret about his mother’s death he cannot share with anyone. 

Except with Jongdae, of course. 

“I would,” Jongdae says. 

Sehun blinks up to look at him. 

“I like your ribbon,” he says with a little smile. 

Jongdae snorts, and it catches Orage’s attention. Sehun can hear her shift but he keeps his eyes on Jongdae. 

“I really like it,” he says again. He’s growing tired of this, of the soreness in the back of his throat and the tears filling up his eyes, but he has no control over it. “It’s a pretty ribbon, it must have been expensive.” 

He shoves his face in his hands, pokes his cheek with the tip of the feather and almost relishes the sting. Jongdae scoots closer and wraps his arms around him in a tight embrace that leaves no space for breathing – but Sehun does not mind. He finds it harder to cry when his chest cannot expand and fuel his lungs with choked sobs. Jongdae is rock solid around him, but his touch is feather light, and it grounds Sehun, puts him back together before he can explode into tiny little pieces that would fly all over the place. 

“It _is_ a very pretty ribbon,” Jongdae agrees. His voice falls like raindrops into the little spaces between his and Sehun’s body, until it lands, soft and warm, in Sehun’s ear. “I’ll get you one, if you want.” 

Sehun blinks at the darkness around him. 

“Come to the ceremony tomorrow, please.” 

“I will.” 

A pause. The night really did come out of Jongdae. Leaning against his thighs and pressed in Jongdae’s embrace, Sehun cannot look up at the sky or glance down at Orage. He sees only the gold feather in his hands. The rest is dark and thick. 

“Thank you,” he croaks out. 

He feels Jongdae’s little smile against the back of his neck, feels the slight brush of his lips against his skin and, again, loneliness finds him too slippery to cling to him. 

“You are most welcome, my Prince.” 

Sehun closes his eyes, and it makes absolutely no difference to the darkness around him. The only difference lies in Jongdae’s embrace. It’s red in his mind. Jongdae glows like embers in his thoughts, red and warm. Sehun closes his eyes, and it makes absolutely no difference to the darkness around him. The only difference lies in Jongdae’s embrace. It’s red in his mind. Jongdae glows like embers in his thoughts, red and warm. He burns like no furnace has ever burned before, and it changes everything around him.

It still burns when Sehun enters the cold, cold rooms buried deep underneath the castle later that night. The cold is relentless in the mortuary chambers, unaware of the passing of seasons, of the high temperatures of summer and the dryness of the wintry wind. Sehun remembers from old lessons about the still lakes hidden far underneath the earth, hidden rivers and waters they’ll never have access to. He imagines it black and thick, the opposite of water here on the surface. No fish, no life, not even something you could drink, it’s just cold, dark water, and it presses against the mossy walls down here, forcing its deathly breath through the cracks.

It burns, but it’s so cold. Sehun tightens the cloak around him. Sejun shivers, so small in his own clothes, his pale little face barely poking out through the thick fur.

It burns still when they’re finally brought to their mother. She lies on the stone table, her pale, delicate hands folded on her chest and her eyes closed. Tradition has claimed that children are to clean their parents’ bodies, to take care of them so that they can be passed onto their next life as clean and loved as they can be. What Sehun had always imagined to be a gesture of love and gratefulness seems so violent now that he is to brush his dead mother’s hair. It burns his fingers when he pulls his gloves off.

“I…” Sejun starts. His eyes are round when they look at Sehun, and is that chubbiness, still, in his cheeks? “Can I… Can I choose her jewellery?”

He glances at the body and his eyes darken, but Sehun understands the repulsion. He nods and relief is obvious on Sejun’s face – too obvious. The mortuary givers are all lined up against the wall, dressed in their usual white furs, and if they are sworn to silence here, they still get to watch and listen. Sejun is Little Prince, he should be more careful about what emotions he chooses to show. This is what their mother would be telling them if she could speak right now. Her eyes would be warm and loving, to make sure the lesson wouldn’t sting too much, but her words would be insistent, commanding. Sehun has no heart to scold though, so he lets it pass. He lets Sejun carefully step away from the stone table to focus his entire attention on the jewellery boxes the mortuary givers have chosen and placed on several pedestal tables.

Sehun is Great Prince. He is the eldest. No excuse will save him from what he is expected to do. So he takes the ivory brush and moves to the end of the table to start brushing his mother’s hair. He has to lower his head to see what he’s doing, and it gifts the back of his neck to the coldness of the chambers. It rushes to his skin and tries to seize it, to gnaw at it until it reaches his spine, but all Sehun can feel still is the brush of Jongdae’s lips, the warmth of his breath, the force of his embrace. He brushes carefully then starts braiding. His fingers aren’t as quick and efficient as Qing’s are, which makes the hairstyle a bit awkward, but it’ll have to do. There were days when his mother’s long dark hair would be braided into such complexity it would take her and Qing an hour to brush it down before bed. She was a warrior, but there was softness about her as well, and most of it could be resumed by her care and obvious love for her hair.

Sehun pauses and glances at his mother’s closed eyes. The givers have cleaned her face thoroughly, there is no trace of dried blood left, but no ritual could have brought back a semblance of life on her cheeks. She is pale, hard to the touch and there’s a hollowness under her eyes that he cannot remember ever seeing.

“What do you think of this one?” Sejun asks.

Sehun looks up to the necklace Sejun is holding before him. Silver has been melted into a hundred of tiny links, each link then attached to the other until a chain springs from the careful work. At the centre of the necklace hangs a much shorter and thinner chain at the end of which a small glass ball dangles. Black stone dust is kept within it, and in the darkness of the mortuary chambers, it glows softly.

“It might be too plain,” Sejun says with a wince. He glances at the mortuary givers, and Sehun realises his little brother is definitely aware of their presence. He sees doubt in his eyes, and it pulls at his heartstrings.

“No, it is perfect,” he is quick to assure his brother. “It is a beautiful necklace. I am sure she would very much like to be sent to the deities with some proof of her kingdom’s talents and treasures. The craftsman’s work is impeccable.”

Sejun’s smile is wide, and this, too, burns. Sehun brings back his attention to his mother. He presses a dark powder onto her eyelids, one made of pigment and dark stone grinded down to a fine dust, and places a rough diamond inside her right hand. It looks wild and unfinished as it has not been sharpened but was instead dug out and brought straight here. The deities will look at it and the diamond will assume the shape they want it too, and pleased with the Queen’s gift, they’ll grant her soul passage to their realm. There, she will meet the other Kings and Queens, those who came before her, and she will never feel worry or fear ever again.

Sejun joins him with the jewellery he chose, and they put it on together. It’s quiet work, slow work even, as they move carefully not to tangle the intricate ornaments, but also because it feels somehow natural to be so slow and deliberate. She will never move again, and here in the icy cold of the mortuary chambers, everything is still, from the air to the line of mortuary givers, still immobile against the wall. They try to join her one last time, to follow her example for this very last lesson, and this somehow sends Sehun into a trance of quiet but unavoidable thoughts.

He thinks about the warmth on his neck despite the cold, despite the fact that his fingers are now numb and stiff. He thinks about his mother when she was seventeen, with her shorter hair and her whole life ahead of her, alone in the mortuary chambers, her own fingers numb and stiff as she worked on her father’s body. He feels close to her soul in a way he has never felt before, and it brings him a sort of peace he never thought he would ever feel again. Her father was murdered on the battlefield, killed by some unknown hand and she never got revenge, she never got answers. She carried on, made of stone and imperturbable despite the hurricane that must have been raging on inside of her. He thinks about the tears he’s shed ever since he saw her, dead and bloody on her bed, and about the tears he will want to shed after, and he makes a quiet promise to keep it all inside just like she did. He is not sacrificing his grief, but he decides that he will feel it differently. He will focus on honouring her legacy, following her footsteps rather than missing everything about her.

He will work relentlessly until he gets justice in her name, but he will still be the leader she wanted him to be. First, he’ll be the Great Prince she trained, then the King she hoped for him to become.

“It is done, brother,” Sejun says eventually. He buries his hands deep inside his sleeves. His nose is red, and his face seems too numb to move.

“Not yet,” Sehun says. He takes out the gold feather from the folds of his cloak and puts it in his mother’s hair. “Now, it is.”

Sejun throws him a long look, but cold has bitten his expressions away and Sehun cannot read him anymore. He does not care. They step back from the table together, and the mortuary givers come. Their movements are in perfect unison, as though they were one single being.

“Now you go,” Sehun says, and it is his quiet promise that clogs the back of his throat this time, not his tears. “Now you go to the fire and the smoke, and it will carry your soul to the skies, to the deities. They will catch it and see your worth, and they will love you just as you were loved here.”

The mortuary givers slide their arms under his mother’s stiff body, the tip of their fingers painted black to mimic those of the deities. They are ferrymen, carriers of souls to the other realm, and no one but them can carry the dead to the pyre. They move slowly, their fur capes so white against the black walls, even whiter than the Queen’s skin, whiter than the heart of the fire will be.

“Now you go,” Sehun says again. He watches his mother as they take her away, watches the gold feather in her hair, the low glow of the dark stone in her necklace, and it burns his eyes. “Now you go to meet the Kings and Queens of before. You go to your final rest.”

Slowly, but inevitably, the double door closes behind the mortuary givers. Sehun has never seen what’s on the other side but he can only imagine the fire, burning bright despite the coldness of the chambers. Can only imagine his mother lying on yet another black stone table before the flames engulf her.

“Do not worry for us, mother,” he says, low and soft, different from the ceremonial tone of the prayers and last goodbyes. “You’ve given us plenty and we will live. Let the deities pay you back for your love.”

Sejun chokes back a sob. He whirls around and rushes out of the room. Sehun doesn’t try to stop him. Instead, he leaves the chambers too, follows the long, steep stairs as they spiral up to the surface and crosses the empty castle until he reaches a tower. There, he pretends he does not see the tears, the dozens of eyes following him as he makes his way to the guardrail. He is one of a hundred of faces watching as smoke slowly rises from the mortuary tower, and he listens, as many others do, when the singing starts. It’s everywhere – on every tower, every wall, at the top of the keep, on the other side of the baileys, probably even in town – everywhere. The smoke rises up, darker even than the night weighing down on the castle, and Sehun almost expects to see the deities’ blackened fingers reaching down to collect it.

He thinks about Jongdae, somewhere, and he wonders if he likes the singing. He wonders if he, too, is suddenly itching to fly to the clouds to try and catch the smoke himself. He wonders about the prayers he will be saying. He wonders if he burns, still. 

When they sew a second diamond on his jacket the morning after, Jongdae is there, in the back of the room, red ribbon in his hair and dark eyes glued to Sehun’s. When they all leave, quiet and crying for some, Jongdae walks up to him and takes his hand. Slowly, carefully, he ties another ribbon around his wrist, passes it around Sehun’s fingers so that it looks like a piece of jewellery more than a piece of silk. Then he holds Sehun’s hand in his.

And he burns, still.

“It was the course your mother, the Queen wanted to follow,” Cheng says. “It will be no trouble for us to pursue it. We were already planning it, and we will do just as she had planned.”

Sehun nods. He glances at the red chair on his right side. It seems like forever ago since the last time his mother took her place on it and presided over her Council’s meeting, but it was just last week when she was there and they were all listening to her words. The seat remains empty for now, and it’ll be so until he is crowned.

He blinks away from it and draws back his attention to the rest of the Council.

“My mother is still your Queen,” he says. “And her orders still have to be followed.” He catches a few frowns, a few twitches of the lips, but he raises his hand to demand silence as he adds, “I am not your King yet, I know, but I have worked on this treaty with you as Great Prince. I hope the Councilmen and Councilwomen will forgive my honest words, but I want to make it clear that I _will_ see that Frimas receives the help they need as soon as possible.”

Someone scoffs. Sehun’s eyes jump from faces to faces. Finally, he stops his gaze on Cheng who holds it without hesitation but with a frown. He is the youngest member of the Council, but his ascension within the court has been so spectacular that no one would dare to hold it against him in any argument. He is too articulate and way too smart in the use of his wit to lose in a debate anyway, and this skill has more than once led to him speaking in the name of the rest of the Council. Sehun has seen him talk back to his mother more than once, always so polite and graceful, but with words charged with defiance and thunder. She once told Sehun that Cheng was her favourite member of the Council, and he found it so strange that the latter’s constant opposition to her ideas and goals could lead to such affection. _He cares_ , she had told her son, _and he just wants the best for Stanvaeld, so he challenges me to do even better._

Sehun doesn’t think he is ready to be challenged just yet.

“Great Prince, surely you know our laws and rules better than anyone else here,” Cheng starts, and already a few Councilpersons are nodding appraisingly at his intervention. “It is good to know you wish to follow the same direction the Queen took, but you are not King just yet.” He nods, graceful, polite, but slow and careful so that his gesture isn’t missed by anyone. “You said it yourself. We cannot approve any treaty without a crowned leader, let alone put one that hasn’t been signed by a Royal hand yet into practice.” His eyes are shaped like almonds, but they’re also sharp like swords. “I hope the Great Prince will forgive me for my blunt words.”

He has the whole Council on his side, it is quite obvious. But Cheng is right about one thing: Sehun is aware of the rules, he knows them by heart. He knows the mourning period prevents anything of importance from happening. If he even were to admit out loud that his first act as King would be to keep on with the treaty his mother was working on before she died, it could put in jeopardy his future ruling. It could undermine his authority and make him look like an eager King with absolutely no respect for those who came before him. He cannot take a decision, can only hint at those he will want to make, and if he does have the right to speak before the Council, it is as Great Prince only. He is no leader, here.

“There is nothing to forgive, Cheng,” he says.

Cheng flashes him a slight smile, one that is too quick to slip off of his face this time. Sehun likes to think it is because it was intended as a private smile.

“It is I who must apologize to the Council for my haste… This treaty was a project that was very dear to my mother, as you all know, and it is now dear to me as well. Please, pardon me for my indelicacies.”

Politics. Wordings and great politeness. Sehun can already feel the atmosphere soften in the room. He’s been a part of those meetings for almost seven years and he’s learned plenty about manipulation and fake humility. He merely said the exact same thing he did earlier, when they all got so shocked and judging. His mother’s work on the treaty between Stanvaeld and Frimas was of the utmost importance, and it shall remain so after he’ll be crowned. Frimas is part of the Alliance and needs help. The Alliance, led by Stanvaeld, will answer. Nothing less, nothing more. 

“There is no need for forgiveness,” Dahlia, a woman with pretty eyes and an even prettier sword at her hip, says. “We will have plenty of time to discuss the exchange of services between the Alliance and Frimas when the time will be right. For now though…” her voice trails on and she seems to hesitate. Sehun knows her to fake her shyness. Dahlia is only a few years younger than his mother was, and she stood on the very same battlefields her Queen did. She is a sword fighter of renown, both admired and feared for it is often said that if she was lacking during the battle, it was only in mercy. She handles her words in the Council room just like she does her blade, with precision and _never_ with shyness.

“Please,” he tells her. “What troubles does the Council wish to see discussed?”

“Troubles?” she says, and she chuckles. “No, nothing of the sort. Great Prince, you know the tradition. In mourning, the heir must travel to the allies of the kingdom and share their pain.” She pauses. “It is as it is.”

Sehun’s eyes travel through the room again. He tries to remember every little detail he has gathered about these people over the years. Dahlia is merciless in battle, but he knows she wakes long before the sun every day to visit the kitchen and rubs a special ointment into the old hands of the Cook before she kneads her bread. Sun and Sook, the identical twins, have a younger sister to take care of and she never seems to want for anything. Yao is a wonderful poet. Even Cheng, with his piercing eyes and overwhelming presence, is different outside of this room. They sometimes make it very hard to remember, so Sehun uses these few moments of silence to do just that: to remember they are more than this Council and that none of them is there simply to make his life more complicated.

Plus, none of them knows the truth about his mother’s death, so how could they suspect he would hate to waste his time with politics and traditions when he has a killer to catch?

“Yes,” Sehun says. “Yes, I am aware. We do need to plan for those travels.”

A few appreciative nods, again. Sehun meets Cheng’s eyes, drawn in by their intensity, and the latter offers him another one of his fleeting smiles. Sehun will have to find a very clever way of thanking him, one that will not sound as a _thank you_ but rather like a challenge. He is confident Cheng will get the message anyway. He also thinks he might have found himself an ally in this very hostile room, and this will be of great help to him. Sejun is young and he has assisted in too few meetings under their mother’s ruling. Sehun suspects it will take him time to find his footing in this atmosphere and to be of real help once he’ll have taken his seat on the left of the red chair.

“Very well so,” Cheng starts with a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It will have to start with Hullmast of course, as Lady Jayanti was your mother’s closest ally.”

_Of course_ , Sehun wants to say, but he keeps quiet and nods instead. Then comes the long discussion about things to plan – not even the planning of said things, no, just the _listing_ of what will need to be planned. Sehun is told about court members that will have to come, about guards and presents, and he quickly loses track of it. He tries to remember Lady Jayanti’s letter, tries to remember if he did read it but if he did, the memory eludes him. He makes a mental note to ask Sejun about it right before he is once again swept away by the constant chattering of the Councilpersons.

Their eagerness finds him seven days later, perched up on his horse at the head of a small gathering right before the gatehouse, only a few steps away from the raised portcullis. A few horses are still trickling in from the stables, but most of the procession is complete. Guards and helpers are all patiently waiting for the nobles and court members to take their designated spots within the convoy, and merchants with shrink-up versions of their shops fit into little wooden wagons are already swelling up the sides of their caravan. Hullmast’s border is barely two days away by horse, but the size of the procession and the diversity of its members will make it a very slow journey. Sehun expects at least three long days to reach the heart of the sea kingdom, and Lady Jayanti’s palace.

Then at least two days there. Another three, or maybe four days back, because nobles will be tired from the festivities. He’ll come back with thirteen more diamonds on his jacket, at best. He knows the seamster is among the procession, somewhere. His best apprentice has stayed for Sejun. He will be twenty two diamonds into the mourning, and no killer to show for it.

Qing finds him weighed down by those gloomy thoughts, and her smile falters as she takes him in.

“I am alright,” he says with an apologetic smile. She narrows her eyes at him, but he keeps his shoulders straight. A few months ago, she would have insisted, but the shift she had predicted back in the study room has already started and it’s merciless. She is Qing, a soldier, and he is to be King in a few weeks. 

“Are you satisfied with the soldiers I have selected for you?”

Sehun throws her a surprised look. He glances at the row of guards behind him, and catches a few of them looking at him and Qing. He frowns and looks down at Qing.

“You selected them?”

Qing smiles and points at the keep with her head. Following her gaze, Sehun realises the Queen’s guards have gathered by the double doors, still in uniform and in perfect formation. None of them are looking at them, but he suspects it is more because of better instincts than lack of interest. They are more seasoned than the younger soldiers now ready to travel after all, and they know when to look indifferent.

“Each of us picked one amongst the youngest soldiers. They are some of the best, the most promising.”

Sehun snorts.

“Qing… you belong to the Queen’s Guard. None of you are allowed to interfere in the creation of the new guard. You shouldn’t even be here. You’re just a soldier now.”

She shrugs, and her face is heavy with innocence. He had never noticed how small she was, but now that he is sitting on his horse and she has to crane her neck to talk to him, it’s all he can see. Even her sword looks short from where he is. She looks old.

“I have not meddled in anything,” she says, with that same sweet voice that could fool anyone accusing her. “There were all volunteers to bring their Great Prince to Hullmast safely. If the King wants to anoint them as his official guards when he is crowned, it will be his decision only.”

“You are playing with the rules, Qing,” Sehun says with a little smile. Something soft and warm blooms in his chest, and on this very cold morning, it is very welcome. “You should be more careful.”

“I have learned this skill from your mother. She was the best at it.”

“That, she was,” he agrees with a little nod.

Qing’s left eye twitches – it’s muscular, mostly. Mainly, it’s a hidden wink. Sehun holds back a smile. Enough people have joined the procession now that the exchange between him and the Captain of the Queen’s Guard won’t go unnoticed. She must have thought the same thing because she takes another look around her then steps back from Sehun’s stallion. Her hand goes to rest on her sword and she closes her fist against the small of her back, in a more formal pose. She nods, her eyes lowered, and takes another step back.

As though it had been perfectly orchestrated, her stepping down starts the soldiers around him. They all quickly move into formation around Sehun. His eyes immediately catch the Captain’s colours, her cape a dark purple and her armour almost as black as the walls around them.

“My name is Tien,” she says as she bumps her closed fist against her heart in a ceremonious salute. “I am the captain of this unit. We will ride with you on this journey to Hullmast. You shall not fear for your safety, neither does anyone in your procession.” She glances at Qing – it’s brief, but still quite noticeable. Sehun wonders if she remembers they used to train together in the swordsmistress’ class. He expects she would politely deny if he were to ask. “Qing will make sure any latecomer is sent our way, Great Prince,” she adds. “Perhaps it would be better to leave now. The days are getting shorter and we will need every minute of light.”

Sehun nods, his left hand on his own heart in response to her greetings.

“Perhaps it would,” he agrees. “Show the way, Captain.”

Tien raises her hand, and her soldiers spread around the procession, most of them gathering at the head, as a human wall around Sehun and the rest circling around the rest of the caravan, like sheepdogs would with a flock of sheep. It springs everyone up to their feet, back to their mounts, and the lively chattering that was rising up all over the grounds is quick to fade away. It’ll come back quickly, before the castle becomes a distant hill behind them, but for now, the procession is solemn. Tien has taken her spot at the head of the caravan and it’s with another quick gesture of her hand that she signals the departure. Sehun grips his reins and guides Heng, his horse, into a slow rhythm.

“You’ve trained her well,” he tells Qing as he passes her.

Qing flashes him a wide smile while withdrawing into the line of her own unit. The clouds are low and misty and the light is dim – Tien was right – but Sehun knows that if he were to take a look back at the Queen’s guard, he would find much heavier clouds on their faces. He’s known these women for years, and they are all past devotion and faith. Love is their bond, and it’s love that would have made them take Sehun to Hullmast themselves if they had been allowed too. He would have enjoyed it, much more than he does the gallery of unknown faces watching him right now, but he knows – and they do too – that love, no matter how strong, rarely overpowers laws and traditions. So he does not turn back.

“What -- ?”

The soldier on his left gasps, and his muffled surprise is followed by a concert of exclamations – little yelps, noisy intakes of air and even a few genuine screams. Sehun doesn’t even have the time to turn around that a great shadow engulfs him. His own surprise knocks the air out of his lungs, but the noise, the sudden wind… he is quick to recognize what it means. When he looks up to the distant silhouette of Orage flying above them, her wings spread over their heads and her size easily hiding the sun away, it is only to smile at her.

“Wait, is the Beast Rider coming with _us_?” another soldier asks.

Tien glances at her then at Sehun. Their eyes meet and despite the darkness Orage has draped over them, Sehun is sure he sees an almost smile soften her face. She does remember him.

“What if he does?” she says to her subordinate. “What will you do? Ask him to turn back?”

The soldier shivers and the man riding next to her playfully shoves her in the side. Their bickering is quickly cut short by another look from Tien. Their little group quickly falls back into silence while the civils trailing behind them get much more vocal about their opinions. Sehun hears tales and myths, murmurs of discomfort from the Court members and even a few arguments here and there. Someone is affirming that the Royal Beast Rider drinks blood on a daily basis - _it has tainted his lips, have you not noticed? They are very red_ \- while the other is laughing them to scorn - _the Cook would not complain about her flower cakes disappearing that much if he really only needed blood_.

Sehun lowers his head to try and hide his smile. Jongdae does have really pink lips but his weakness for sugar is a fortunate discovery. He wonders how true would be the Jongdae he’ll have if he were to mould one out of every whisper, every certainty and story now travelling through the procession. He loses himself a bit over the idea that maybe he’d find many more truths than he himself is aware of in the gossip behind him, and, just as he starts to hurt at the possibility, he thinks about the sun, about the gold feather his mother’s soul has left with, he thinks about the red ribbon still tied around his hand under his riding glove and the set of dark eyes watching him from the back of the throne room when they put another weight on his jacket. He thinks about secrets.

This seals the smile on his face for the rest of the day.

It was a cold day, but it morphs into an even colder night. Tien halted their convoy before the sun even started its descent to the horizon line, and it frustrated Sehun at first, but he quickly realised she had made the right choice. They are not only travelling with soldiers – although Sehun wishes they were – and it makes for a very different organisation when the time to set up camp comes. Chaos quickly erupted into the plain Tien had chosen for the night as helpers and young stable boys and girls ran all over the place to fetch water for their masters and mistresses, or to ask for assistance to set the complex tents that some have packed. A few still are settling down when night creeps into the camp.

As Great Prince, Sehun is used to travelling, but he’s always done it in a military setting, which means a quicker pace during the day and less flaunting of riches at night. His own tent was quickly set up, and it was vastly because he doesn’t have extra veils to hang by his door – and no door to speak of. There’s nothing but a piece of fabric that his visitors have to flap on the side to enter his modest room. Not that anyone would though. His last guest was Tien, and she was very brief and efficient in her report. She was so different when they were younger. He remembers her flying around the training field with her sword made of wood in a tunic that was too big for her. She looked wild and unstoppable, as though she was constantly carried around by a gust of air. He supposes he, too, was different. Had they remained the same, her telling him about the soldiers she entrusted with the keeping of his tent and him quietly listening to her would have been drastically different.

She leaves and Sehun stays. He watches his modest door undulate at the memory of her coming and going. Another memory is tugging at his mind. He remembers the training field, again, and the swordsmistress’ severity at the rigidity in his wrist. He remembers the boy she asked him to train with, his little sword, the fire in his ocean blue eyes.

He is jolted out of his memories by a concert of exclamations and gasps coming from the rest of the camp. His hand flies to his sword – and even after all these years, his gesture is still a bit too stiff. He takes a first step towards the entrance of his tent, but then the earth shakes under his feet and almost topples him over. It’s over before he can register it though, and it’s only when he realises the whole camp has gone silent that he understands. Orage has landed, and considering the tremor that it sent through the ground, she landed very, _very_ close to the rest of the tents.

“How was your day?”

Sehun whirls around with a gasp, his fingers clenching around the guard of his sword. Jongdae flashes him a wide grin from the back of his tent. He has slipped inside so quickly that his intrusion barely left a ripple over the wall, and the stillness outside tells Sehun that no one has seen him sneak into the tent. He is sure he would have heard a soldier call him out. Just like he knows that Tien has made sure his tent is guarded on every side.

“Uneventful,” Sehun says, still a little bit breathless. “Yours?”

Jongdae smiles as he starts walking around the tent, curious fingers pocking and feeling everything they can.

“Quiet,” he says. He stops by Sehun’s little table and takes the letter that was on top. “I enjoy seeing you ride,” he adds, but his voice is quieter already as he immerses himself in his reading. If he had more to say about it, Sehun would never know. Trying to guess makes him blush a little.

“It’s Lady Jayanti’s letter for my mother’s death,” Sehun quickly says, eager to fill the silence. “I asked Sejun to give it to me so I can… I don’t know, I feel like I should memorize what she has written.”

“They were very close,” Jongdae says with a nod. “It shows. It is a very heartfelt letter.”

It catches Sehun off guard at first, but the image of the gold feather in his mother’s hand quickly fills his mind – which it always does when he surprisingly forgets that Jongdae has perfectly valid reasons to mourn too. Of course he would know about his mother and Lady Jayanti’s friendship. He was there for most of their meetings, every feast they shared, and when Lady Jayanti came to Stanvaeld to ask for help against the raiders that were swarming her shores, Jongdae stood, impassive, as his Queen offered his strength and power for the then unavoidable war.

“Did you… did you go to the night market last night?” Sehun asks.

Jongdae looks up to him then nods. He places the letter back onto the small table then makes his way to the military bed Sehun has placed in a corner.

“I did,” Jongdae says. He leans over the bed and tests the mattress with the palm of his hand. He glances at Sehun with a frown but he seems to dismiss whatever he is thinking. Soon enough, he sits down on the bed and folds his legs underneath him. They disappear in the fabric of his robes. “I stayed there the whole night, but I didn’t see anyone with a yellow cape.”

Sehun hums. Their eyes meet and they stare at the other for a while before Sehun finally sighs and makes his way to the bed as well. He sits next to Jongdae but keeps his feet against the floor and his hands gently pressed between his thighs.

“We expected that.”

“We expected that,” Jongdae echoes with a nod.

He reaches out and grabs Sehun’s left hand, the one with the red ribbon and slowly unties it. His touch is gentle but affirmed. His fingers are insistent when they need to be, pressing right into Sehun’s palm to force his hand open, or against the inside of his wrist to make him bend the articulation.

“I can’t let go of this traveller,” he then says. The ribbon finally unfurls over his knees and Jongdae lets go of Sehun’s hand to focus on smoothing out the slight wrinkles marring the silk. “I … I am not sure why, but I feel like he is important in a way we do not know yet.”

“Except we do, Jongdae.” Jongdae looks up and Sehun offers him his hand again. “He sold the cursed herbs. He is our link to the murderer. He is guilty. That’s why he’s important.”

Jongdae hums in agreement, but it’s vague and fragile.

“You’d be happy to know our friend the apothecary was not there though. I think we may have frightened him when we talked to him.”

“Good,” Sehun says with a grin.

Jongdae glances at him with the shadow of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He seems to be satisfied with his work on the red ribbon because he draws back his focus to Sehun’s hand and does in reverse what he did to untie the piece of silk. It’s become usual enough by now that Sehun instinctively knows when to spread his fingers or rotate his hand so that his palm is facing the sky. Jongdae comes to him every morning after the Red Diamond Ceremony and, quietly, he holds his hand and unties the ribbon. Then they talk a bit, about the cold, the stone, the sun striking the Red Diamond Throne as Jongdae smoothes out the ribbon, before switching back to silence when it is time to put the ribbon back on.

“There,” Jongdae says once he is finished. He presses Sehun’s hand between his own then pulls away. “I had to redo mine too. It was windy up there today and my hair tends to get very wild very fast.”

It makes Sehun wonder, because wildness seems to be a constant part of Jongdae, even now that he is sitting cross-legged on his bed, his outer robe spread all around him and his hair tightly pulled back. Sometimes, looking at him is like trying to make out the stars at night. They elude you, their light feeble and frail when you look straight at them, but were you to slightly turn your head, they would shine bright again. At times, Sehun feels like trying to understand Jongdae, trying to see the whole of him requires many more angles than his neck can manage, as though his profile would tell different things about him than a face à face with him. He is clean and well-groomed at first sight, but then there would be something along the sharp edges of his face, or in the whites of his teeth, something in the depth of his eyes, in the way his face is always framed by curls too short to be pulled back. Bright light.

“You know you’ve made quite the impression this morning,” Sehun spills out on a whim. Jongdae raises an eyebrow at him. “I wasn’t aware you wanted to come, and they’re not… none of them is used to your proximity.”

“They would be, if they didn’t run out of a room when I come in,” Jongdae says, but his voice is amused and light. “Although I suppose that’ll change again when you are finally crowned. They’ll see me as no more than another sword at your hip, and my presence won’t be that insufferable anymore.”

Sehun snorts.

“You do know they were still scared of you when you were at my mother’s side, right? They were just more scared of what she would say to them if they were to voice it out.”

“They were right to be,” Jongdae chuckles.

He stares into Sehun’s face for a few seconds then spins around on the bed so that he is now facing Sehun’s side profile. The side of his robes slide off the bed, and Sehun’s eyes trail after the movement, up to Jongdae’s thin waist. He looks up, the back of his throat tightening. Jongdae’s eyes are dark, and Sehun isn’t quite sure the flickering movement he catches in his irises comes from the slight trembling of the candles around them.

“I have something for you,” Sehun says.

He stands up and takes a small steamer box made out of very thin pieces of bark. Usually, for travels like those, they’d mostly eat dried meat, caramelized fruits and maybe some cheese, but this very convoy, with its ostentatious members, has been graced by a couple of cooks and bakers. It was very unnerving to go to their part of the camp and ask for a favour all the while feeling a little ashamed of the conditions the cooks were working in. Cooking is something you do in a kitchen, with your utensils and your own hearth, not in the middle of nowhere. They were happy to oblige though, and Sehun made sure to thank them warmly for the trouble.

So now he is standing in front of his own bed with the basket in his hands, and Jongdae is looking at him with his eyebrows raised in silent questioning. Sehun offers him the basket. Jongdae instinctively sniffs it when he takes it, and the weirdness of it – although quite expected to be honest – makes Sehun chuckle.

“Is that…” Jongdae starts with a jolt of his head as he pulls back from the basket to eye it with wonder. He hastily opens it and shows absolutely no care to the lid that tumbles off the bed. “Flower cakes!”

He looks up at Sehun, his eyes twinkling with wonders.

“Oh, Orage is gonna be _so_ jealous,” he grins, and then bites into the first cake. “No one knows me like you do,” he adds, and it comes out in a gargled mix of munching and pleasured moans.

There’s an explosion of blue in his eyes, but it’s gone before Sehun can wonder – he still does. Something expands in his chest, and it pushes his lungs and his heart out of the way until all he can do is choke out the first words that come to his mind.

“Why did you come?” he asks.

Jongdae looks up, his hand holding a second flower cake frozen in mid-air. Is that surprise Sehun sees on his face? It stretches the skin around his eyes a bit, and the constellations drawn there are magnified. Jongdae frowns then, and it tears them apart, forces them into a shrunk-up galaxy.

“I guess I just… I just didn’t think about not coming,” Jongdae finally says.

He puts back the steamed cake in the box and looks into Sehun’s face with a hint of defiance in his eyes, as though the question had deeply hurt him.

“Hey, do you remember sword training?” Sehun quickly asks on a whim. “You barely trained with us, but every time Mistress Suzume forced me to stay longer, you were there.”

“Of course,” Jongdae says. No denying there. He doesn’t even look away. Tien would have most surely lost her incredible talent for military talk and mumbled some incoherent excuse before taking her leave. “You were terrible. Awful at it.”

Sehun laughs.

“I am not much better now.”

Jongdae snorts. Their eyes meet, again. At times, Sehun feels it’s all they do. Just stare at the other until the air thickens and he feels like he can’t breathe. He’s always been more familiar with Jongdae than most, having grown up with him around and seeing him in more private settings, but the last few days have changed his perception of him so much already. He sees the difference in the way they look, hears them too in the way they talk, but they don’t seem as drastic as they once were. Jongdae was a whole other being before, some creature from a different world, but now… Sehun is getting used to it, and he quite likes it. His mother never winced when Jongdae’s magic burst out and Sehun doesn’t think he will either.

Sehun sits back on the bed, then gestures at the basket.

“Eat,” he says. “I’ll save you more food in the morning.”

Jongdae smiles so wide his eyes turn into crescent. He looks so much like Orage when he does that, which shouldn’t be possible. She is a giant fox, after all.

“Orage and I know how to take care of ourselves, but we both thank Great Prince Sehun for his kindness.”

Blue in his eyes again. Short-lived but oh so intense. It seems to Sehun that Orage has really made sure her own thanks would be given to him.

“I didn’t think you remembered sword training,” Jongdae says with a quiet voice. He keeps his eyes trained on the steamer basket. “I had just arrived in Stanvaeld.”

His pronunciation is heavily accented, as though weighed down by an influx of memories. Sehun feels quite ashamed because he remembers the surge of bitterness in the back of his throat when he understood Tien would never talk to him like she used to when they were kids. She would never speak of the training they went through together, and he would never glimpse at the tall girl with the loose tunics ever again. Jongdae didn’t shy away from the memories, _Sehun_ did.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he feels like his own voice is strained, different. He was taught a lot of things in his life. Apologising was never one of them. “And… Thank you for coming to Hullmast with me. It means a lot.”

Jongdae looks up and his smile tells Sehun his attempt probably wasn’t as bad as he thought.

“I thought we could use the opportunity to talk about what we’ll do when we come home. You told me you didn’t like that the Council was sending you away so quickly after the Queen’s death. And I know it’s tradition here, but also… Do you think there could be some ulterior motives?”

Sehun frowns, slowly considering the idea. Could there be? He does not like the possibility any more or less than he liked the idea that the healer could have done it, but Jongdae was right to tell him no one was to be excluded from their investigation. He struggles to find material to fuel Jongdae’s suspicion in his memories of the last Council meeting though. Cheng spoke most of the time, as he usually does, the twin brothers took notes of every exchange, Yao was the first to greet Sehun when he entered and Dahlia was as severe as always. Even their reaction when he mentioned the treaty between Stanvaeld and Frimas and his eagerness to see it signed as quickly as possible were predictable. Annoyance, rejection, offense.

“Is there someone in the Council who has a deeper knowledge of herbs?” Jongdae asks, pushing Sehun further into his thinking.

The answer is quick to come. He thinks about Dahlia and the dried flowers she is known to carry around for their fragrance. He thinks about the cream she massages onto the Cook’s hands every morning. _Oh, how good I feel afterwards,_ the Cook always says. _Even in winter, Great Prince… even in winter, my fingers and wrists don’t ache as much as they used to!_

Jongdae must have seen something in his eyes because he scoots closer.

“Who?” he asks as he leans over the basket and straight into Sehun’s personal space.

“Dahlia,” Sehun whispers, and he hates himself for it. His mother loved Dahlia. She would be so mad at him for even considering the possibility.

Jongdae looks into his face then nods.

“I will look into it, then,” he says. It pains him too, Sehun can see it quite clearly on his face. To think a couple of weeks ago, Jongdae’s expressions were like fog in the dead of night. They’re as clear as the crystal they dig out from their caves now. “I will probably take a closer look at Cheng, too. His ambition has no limit, and younger people are usually more prone to plotting.”

“It’s most certainly _not_ Cheng,” Sehun retorts.

“Most certainly,” Jongdae says.

But it’s no agreement, not even a contradiction. It almost sounds like a plea and Sehun finds his own thoughts echoing it. _Please_. Weariness he wasn’t feeling a few moments ago now hits him in full force. His muscles are sore from the whole day spent riding and his head is heavy, throbbing to the rhythm of the camp life. He does not hear soldiers, but there are songs and laughter and very loud comments about an exceptionally tense game of dice. He longs for some peace of mind, a bit of quiet and simplicity, but it seems that every time he yearns of it, it slips through his fingers. He is trying to catch smoke with his bare hands, and it eludes him always. The closer they’ll get to the end of the mourning, and the farther away he’ll be from simpler days.

He looks up and meets Jongdae’s eyes. For a very short second, he teeters over the edge. He can almost hear it. His own voice, soft and ashamed, but also relieved that he is admitting his weakness. _I am not sure I am ready to be King,_ he would say, and it would be out at least. He can taste it too, the relief. With the words gone from his body, there’ll be no black mould growing inside of him. He’ll be clean and free. It’s so close. He just has to open his mouth and the words will stumble out on their own.

He does open his mouth.  
Then he sees his mother, sitting up in her bed, her body frame swallowed by immense silk pillows and her face, pale but so lively, turned to him. He hears her, sees the command in her eyes. _You are Great Prince, Sehun,_ she says.  
And he hears himself, the very last words he gave her.  
 _I will not disappoint you, mother._

He swallows back poison.

“I should let you rest,” Jongdae says. Sehun looks up, bracing himself against the disappointment he is sure he will see in Jongdae’s eyes, but it’s ice melting in the midst of his irises that he sees. Nothing else. Jongdae’s eyes light up and the colour swirls around, blinding and piercing. “Orage is waiting for me.”

He glances at Sehun as he stands up. His outer robe floats back to his feet, hiding away the thinner, simpler one under it. He grabs the basket and makes his way to the exit of the tent. He stops before though then turns back towards Sehun. The change is drastic, unnerving, and Sehun wonders how he had never noticed it before. The way Jongdae flashes his teeth so much more, how his spine curls as he bends to bow at him, the way he plants his feet on the ground. This is Orage bowing for him, Orage thanking him. Jongdae stretches his arms on either side of his body, and they look like wings.

Sehun chuckles, warmth spreading within him.

“Good night,” he says. Then adds, “Both of you.”

Jongdae straightens up and winks at him – Jongdae, it really is Jongdae. Then he turns around and slips through the door. He leaves a trail of silence behind him. Sehun can pinpoint the exact moment he disappears into the night, out of the camp. Voices quickly rise again all around his tent and none of them wonder. None of them know how Jongdae and Orage look when they are talking to the stars.

Sehun muses about the softness of sharp angles and bony fingers compared to the harshness of delicate fabrics and exquisite jewellery as he slowly, but surely, falls asleep on his bed, still dressed and warm.

They cross Hullmast’s border early in the morning, and Sehun shares the little gasps of wonder he can hear throughout the convoy. He may have seen Lady Jayanti’s land a few times already, the sheer wildness of it always catches him off guard. It is not a kingdom in the more common sense of the word as its people do not care much about the land as they do the water lapping at it. Hullmast is made of sailors and fishers – their farms are underwater and their houses by the sea side. Sehun has learned about the strange shape of their kingdom in his history lessons: the people of Hullmast care so little about the soil and the hills that they never defended their land and it has been gnawed little by little by the surrounding kingdoms over the centuries. It is only when the armies got too close to the beaches that the people took up arms and fought tooth and nail for what was theirs. Hullmast is now a long strip of wilderness stretching from the western border of Stanvaeld down to the north joint between Frimas and Burgh. It looks like a sharp comma on any map, and at its curviest point is the Bay, in the heart of which the palace of its rulers has been built. The only roads cutting through the slim piece of lands are those who have been built for trade purposes, and it takes their little procession a few hours to reach the closest one. Horses can travel on wild trails, but it is hardly a favourable ground for the merchants’ wagons or the few Court members travelling in boxes. Sehun, now wearing a new diamond on his jacket, has to grin and bear through the multiple breaks they take.

Jongdae does not land a single time throughout the day. Orage draws large circles over their heads, each flap of her wings eating the same distance they cross in one long hour, and when they stop, she hedgehops over the ocean on their right. Sehun tries to make out Jongdae on her back, but Orage is either too far, too fast, or drenched in too much sunlight. The waves make for a formidable view though. Back in Stanvaeld, the ocean is a story, but here, it overpowers everything. The view, the feeling of the wind on their faces, the taste of the air and even the way it rushes into their lungs. Hullmast is airy and changing where Stanvaeld is rock solid and set in stone.

When they stop for the night, Tien visits his tent to report. Just like she did the night before, she gives him the names of the soldiers she appointed to the guard of his tent, then she enrols her map and shows him which direction she’ll make the convoy follow in the morning. It’s all very professional and formal, and completely unnecessary. Sehun might not be gifted in the handling of swords, his sense of direction and memory is impeccable. He still nods and voices out his agreement when Tien’s light eyes search his face though, understanding that she was raised in the respect of certain rules. Rules he is bound to follow.

Sehun eats his dinner alone in his room, and Jongdae joins him in secret. They share a couple of steamed buns all the while talking about the Council members and sharing every piece of knowledge they have about each member. They make it into a game, with the one knowing the most bizarre detail as the winner. Jongdae wins a couple – he certifies to Sehun that Sun and Sook, the twin brothers, never cook for themselves but always for the other, and he tells him that Yao speaks to the deities when he writes poetry. Sehun says Cheng never eats meat and Jongdae reluctantly grants him his point. Of Dahlia though, they quickly realise they know very little, and this makes the air around them heavy with tension and unwelcomed silence.

Then Jongdae gives him his thanks, but it’s really Orage smiling at him, and he leaves him alone for the rest of the night. Sleep comes easily. In the morning, they all gather in front of Sehun’s tent as the seamster works on his jacket. Jongdae stands on the beach on their right, Orage lying next to him. When they all go back to their horses, Jongdae climbs on Orage and Sehun uses the slow pace of the convoy to adjust the ribbon over his hand himself.

It is several hours later as the afternoon sun shines down on them and a warmer wind blows from the ocean that the Bay finally emerges in front of them. Nature has made it a very clever spot to build the heart of the kingdom, for high walls have emerged from the water as jagged cliffs. Whatever it was centuries ago has long disappeared ever since, but it has left a well-guarded creek one can only access from the ocean – or from the tunnel they are now approaching. When the tide is high, water barges into the opening to make its crossing a bit more arduous, but the ocean is low when they enter it and Sehun silently thanks the deities for such a gift. He was not eager to hear the Court members constantly complain about being wet.

He glances at Orage’s silhouette in the sky before the tunnel roof blocks his vision. It’s mossy and the stone has a light brown quality to it that is foreign to people coming from Stanvaeld. Sehun stretches his arm and brushes his fingers along the wall, guiding his horse slowly through the opening. It feels friable to him, and it looks almost disjointed. Layers upon layers have been piled together to make these great cliffs, and he struggles to understand the physics of it.

“It’s incredible,” one of Tien’s soldiers says, and her voice bounces off the walls of the tunnel. Sehun recognises her as the one who reacted so strongly at Jongdae and Orage’s appearance in the sky two days before. “It looks like it could crumble any minute, and yet…”

“Yet it holds,” Tien says. Her tone is firmer, but it still blooms over the tunnel. She glares at the soldier. “And it has been holding for a very long time now. Hullmast is an old kingdom.”

The soldier glances apologetically at the now quiet nobles behind her. Tien’s confidence doesn’t seem to have comforted them that much, and Sehun can’t help but smile, remembering his own fear when he first crossed the tunnel to Lady Jayanti’s palace. At least the crossing is short, but by the time they reach the other side, their eyes have accommodated to the semi-darkness lurking in the tunnel, which makes their reunion with daylight a bit confusing. Though not as confusing as the eruption of voices and cheers raising all around them when they step out of the tunnel. _This_ is quick to erase the wariness about Hullmast’s weaker stone from the Court member’s minds.

“Great Prince! People from Stanvaeld! Welcome! Welcome!”

There are so many people gathered around the tunnel’s exit that it is difficult to see the rest of the Bay at first. But, as the cheering goes and more voices raise together, Sehun begins to hear the gasps and quiet murmurs of awe from the rest of his convoy, and somehow, this fills his heart with pride.

Few are the members of the Court who can say they have travelled the world, and even fewer can affirm they have been to the Bay of Hullmast before. This, this is what Sehun wishes to give them, other than court intrigues and gossip to discuss at dinner. The Bay is one of the most beautiful places he’s ever seen, maybe even more beautiful than the Castle of Stanvaeld – which is a very serious compliment for him. It just is so different from the black stone, so different from the houses, wide and so imposing. There are no cobbled streets in the bay, just sand and wooden planks that weave over the beach, from one house to the other. The creek is smaller than you expect it to be, but it is fine as most of the Bay life has grounded itself to the ocean. Every house has been built on piles, some higher than others, for when the tide is high. Little bridges are to be taken during those times, as the ocean swallows unapologetically the wooden planks when it rises – and no one would even dare to blame it for that. In Hullmast, the ocean is divine, sacred. Life moves to its rhythm, and the people love it dearly.

Sehun himself cannot wait to feel the sand under his feet.

The crowd parts before them to let a woman walk up to the convoy. Lady Jayanti is, in every aspect, the Queen of her kingdom, but she wears no crown and doesn’t expect any title from her people. If they were a ship, she would be their Captain at most, and the love they give her, she gives it back tenfold. She has changed quite a bit since the last time Sehun saw her, but the essence of her remains the same: if she is slightly shorter, she still carries herself with ease, and her face, now more wrinkled, still radiates warmth.

“Great Prince,” she greets him when she finally reaches the convoy. She lifts her arms on her sides and bows her head. Her voice is hoarse and her accent musical. “People of Stanvaeld, welcome. Welcome to Hullmast, welcome to the Bay!”

She offers her hand to Sehun and he uses it as support as he gets off Heng - who looks like he enjoys it thoroughly. She doesn’t let go of his fingers, and when he turns around to the rest of his escort, he is amused to see most of them watching him with wide eyes.

“You can leave your horses and wagons here,” he says. “They won’t do well over the sand.”

“We will take care of them,” Lady Jayanti is quick to add. She signals at a few of her people. “My friends here will take your luggage and possessions to the palace, to your rooms.” Her eyes take in the people behind Sehun. “I have never seen any of you in the Bay… Please, do explore our homes. Enjoy the view, take time to visit! We are so, so pleased to have you.”

Her attention flickers back to Sehun. Hullmast is part of the Alliance, along with Stanvaeld, Burgh, Marisk and Frimas, but the way they speak, their habits and customs have held their ground against the standardization that has swept through their lands, carried by traders and workers jumping from one kingdom to the other. It has made every visit Sehun has done in the Bay peculiar and unique, and he feels this time won’t be any different.

A sudden gust of wind lifts a small tornado of sand around them, and the crowd breaks from its silence for another cheer. Sehun looks over his shoulder just as the wind suddenly dies down, and he realises that it was no other than Orage landing down in the creek. She folds her wings against her side and takes in the crowd at her feet with a wiggle of her large tail. Jongdae jumps off her back and bows to the new wave of cheering his apparition forces from the crowd. When he straightens up, his eyes are electric blue and his smile, wide and wild.

“Ah, you have brought Mighty One!” Lady Jayanti exclaims. She nods to herself. “Very well, very well! Let us go now! People, friends! Let us go to the palace!”

Sehun does not have enough of his two eyes to take in everything that happens around him as they all make their way to the palace. He tries to focus on the buildings at first, because the palace truly is a sight to behold. The little, colourful houses floating over the sand all over the creek already are quite spectacular, but the palace is… unbelievable. It has been built far over the ocean, and it stretches over the natural way into the creek. Rather than one big building, like the keep in Stanvaeld is, it has been broken down into dozens and dozens of compartments, small wooden houses with large openings rather than doors and delicate curtains sometimes acting as walls, all linked to the others by solid bridges. The palace faces the back of the creek and the rest of the dwellings. There is no separation between the common folk and the leader here. It would not take more than twenty minutes to walk from the farthest house, built against the side of the cliff itself, to the entrance of the palace, and there are no guards, no outer wall to complicate this short crossing of the creek. As an inhabitant of the Bay, you would have to go to the palace every day anyway, as the only access to the wild ocean is at its back, where large dockings have been built. Strange barks are sailing all over the horizon – they are weirdly shaped, their lower part flat and wider, and their sails dyed with vivid colours. The few spaces of shallow waters between each block of the palace have been converted to the farming of those rare and precious products one so rarely finds in Stanvaeld. They are plentiful here.

“By the deities,” some lady says behind Sehun. “There is so little privacy to be had, here!”

Lady Jayanti looks over her shoulder with a wide smile.

“We are family, my dear lady, and living together does not bother us.”

Sehun glances at the lady too and their eyes meet. She is blushing, not out of embarrassment but because of pleasure. She barely dwells on Sehun’s eyes, too focused on trying to take in everything she can. Sehun now only realises his convoy has greatly diminished. As they’ve been escorted to the palace, many of the people have extended invitations to the nobles and merchants – to visit their houses, to see their children or to taste their cooking – and Sehun is delighted to see that so many have heartily accepted. By the time they do arrive at the main bridge leading into the palace, Sehun is left with Tien’s unit and Jongdae, always, trailing behind him.

“I will not need an armed escort here,” Sehun tries to tell Tien. He has seen her wonder at the colours, the houses, but she has not budged and has remained closed to him, always so formal. “If you wish to take a look around, please, do so. You can let your men and women go as well. I will be fine.”

Tien’s eyes go from Lady Jayanti to Jongdae to finish their course on Sehun.

“My Great Prince means well, I know, but I also know what my duty is. I will not leave his side, not now, not ever.” She draws her attention to Lady Jayanti and slightly bows, her voice softer as she adds, “Please, do not see my loyalty as mistrust to your people, your Highness. It is just my wish to remain at my Prince’s side.”

“How beautifully said,” Jongdae says with a sneer.

Sehun has to admire Tien’s professionalism as she keeps a straight face. Lady Jayanti, however, chuckles with a rather delighted twinkle in her eyes.

“Beautiful indeed,” she agrees, and her eyes are loving, warm, when they land on Jongdae. This, more than anything else, is the most bizarre thing Sehun has seen since they’ve arrived. “I do not mind,” Lady Jayanti says, always smiling. “If it is what you think you must do, then by all means, do so! I suspect even the deities would not be able to make you budge you. All fine, all fine! Although, I must ask, do not refer to me as your Highness, please.”

“She’s just a Lady,” Jongdae interrupts, again. “Lady Jayanti. Don’t you see she has no crown?”

Sehun freezes as Tien opens her eyes wide. Icy silence falls over her soldiers, and Sehun is mortified. He opens his mouth to hastily offer some apology in Jongdae’s name, but Lady Jayanti bursts out laughing before he has a chance to do so. She lifts a hand and puts it on Jongdae’s shoulder, her touch so friendly and unbothered that it leaves Sehun even more wordless.

“Mighty One is absolutely right. Lady Jayanti is more than enough, dear friends.” She winks at Jongdae whose smile only grows wider. He acts with so much familiarity with her, and it stings a bit. “I shall let you go and rest a bit now,” Lady Jayanti says. “Tonight, we will feast.” Her voice drops a few octaves. She looks into Sehun’s face with a kind of solemnity he was not prepared for. “Tonight, we feast for the Queen.”

She squeezes Jongdae’s shoulder before she lets him go. Sehun is still too stunned by Jongdae’s behaviour and Lady Jayanti’s responses to his insults that he let himself be guided through the maze of footbridges and house-blocks until Lady Jayanti gestures him into a wide room built on a lone platform on the general right side of the palace. Sehun thanks her awkwardly and she chuckles, her laugh like the sound of waves crashing against the cliff, before she turns around and walks away.

Tien looks at her for a short second, her own confusion quite obvious on her face, before she draws back her attention on Sehun.

“You can go rest,” she says. “We will guard the room.”

Sehun opens his mouth to argue, but she glares at him and it’s too efficient for him to even consider opposing her. He quietly thanks her and her soldiers before turning to Jongdae.

“You,” he says. “With me.”

He grabs Jongdae by the arm and drags him along as he pulls the heavy curtain closing the entrance of the room on the side. It flows back into place right after Sehun and Jongdae walk inside, but the individual house remains strangely bright. Sehun barely notices the opening in the back wall and the view of the ocean, nor does he pay any attention to the simple but very large bed. His sole focus is on Jongdae.

“By the deities, Jongdae,” he groans. “How did you even… Why did you talk to her like that? Lady Jayanti is our host, and the leader of her country. You owe her respect and –”

“My respect for her is one which words cannot describe,” Jongdae retorts, and there’s an edge in his voice. His eyes are still blue, Sehun notices – and he wonders how he could have _stopped_ noticing it. They’re also sharp and heavy on Sehun. “This is how they talk here. Banter and raillery are much appreciated. This is how you show friendship and care, by making the other laugh.”

His tone is so judging, so fiery that it freezes Sehun on the spot – for the second time in so little time. He tries to find any proof that Jongdae is wrong in his memory, tries to show him how he probably has greatly vexed Lady Jayanti, but he quickly realises that his previous visits have not taught him enough to be able to rebuke such argument. He has always noted the familiarity between Lady Jayanti and her people. Ranks and hierarchy matter so little here, and if they are mentioned, it is only because the people are aware of how they are sometimes needed. But mockery? _Rudeness?_

She laughed, though. She looked at Jongdae with huge, twinkling eyes, and she laughed with her whole body.

“Mighty One,” he says instead of any arguing he was first aiming to, and he says it in a calm, soft voice. Something in the memory of Jongdae’s pleased face when Lady Jayanti laughed has eased him. “She has called you Mighty One several times. What does that mean?”

“It is very meaningful, indeed,” Jongdae nods. “The Queen sent me here to aid Lady Jayanti and her people fight back the raiders who invaded their shores. She was very grateful. They all started to refer to me as the Mighty One after I… well, helped them win the war.”

Sehun stares for a few seconds. He knows it was a violent war, because the raiders came prepared and organized. Hullmast is a fractured kingdom, and it took time and resources to gather its people. Most of the land is uninhabited, the Bay being the largest dwelling on land, but Hullmast has many islands at its heart, and it took time. Too much time. Lady Jayanti came to Stanvaeld’s court to beg for aid, as the Alliance guarantees it, and Sehun’s mother obliged. She sent armed forces, food and healers, but mostly, she sent Jongdae. The war was done in less than two months.

“You fought for them, and they…”

Jongdae smiles again, but this time, it is a mirthless grimace more than it is a smile. His eyes are still blue, and Sehun expects them to remain so for the whole duration of the stay. No one has flinched away from them here.

“They like me, yes,” Jongdae says. “They actually, _genuinely_ , like me.”

It all passes by in a flash in front of Sehun’s eyes. The disgust and horror of the people in the caravan when they realised Jongdae was tagging along, how quiet they all grow when he appears in their midst, the shudders, the yelps when Jongdae moves a bit too fast, when his eyes are too blue. Lady Jayanti has touched him, she has laughed with him and greeted him as a high-ranking guest. It fills Sehun with fierceness.

“Of course they do,” he says. “By the deities, they’d be terribly wrong not to.”

Jongdae snickers. He reaches out and softly pulls on Sehun’s hand. The gesture is unprecedented – bizarre, even, because Sehun cannot quite make out what it is supposed to mean. He knows he is glad for the proximity though, glad that it has forced him to take a step towards Jongdae, but most of all, he is quite pleased at the smile that blooms on Jongdae’s face. His lips turn upward at their corners and too much of his teeth show, but it is genuine and warm. He wants to tell him to go out, to go meet all those people who love him so much. None of them would hesitate to invite him into their houses, and it fills Sehun’s heart to the brim to know that no matter how unique the experience his companions are living right now, Jongdae won’t be excluded. He wants to tell him to go enjoy what he is due, but he finds he cannot open his mouth, nor can he let go of Jongdae’s hand.

“Orage is playing with a bunch of kids,” Jongdae says, as though reading Sehun’s mind. “They like to try to climb onto her back, and she likes to make them fall.”

He lifts a hand and mindlessly rubs at his arm, as though shooing away a very insistent bug. Somewhere in the Bay, many kids erupt into loud laughter. Sehun is struck with wonder.

“Maybe you should join her,” he eventually says.

Jongdae nods with a smile. “Maybe I should.”

He smiles again, fully, the constellations on his cheekbones in constant movement, and Sehun gets a little bit lost in the admiration of it. Jongdae squeezes his hand, the coldness of his touch engulfing Sehun’s fingers even after he lets go.

“You should rest,” Jongdae says.

Sehun sits on the bed, his eyes following Jongdae as he makes his way to the curtain.

“Maybe I should,” he says.

Jongdae chuckles, but does not look back. He slips on the other side of the curtain, so graceful and swift that the heavy piece of fabric barely moves. It is quiet for a moment, with only the sound of waves filling the room. Sehun glances at the opening at the back, a little smile on his lips. It lets a very enjoyable whiff of the ocean into the bedroom – the air has not yet been made crisp by winter. Cold will reach the shore much later than it does in Stanvaeld, and it’ll be softer here, gentler. Sehun closes his eyes.

It is not long before another burst of joyful screams and peals of laughter erupt from somewhere on the beach, not long before it is joined by the loudest whine from Orage that Sehun has ever heard. It makes him chuckle too, and when he finally lies down on the bed, he already knows he will have the most restful sleep he’s had in days.

It is only when he is floating away in that cloudy time and space right before deeper sleep that Sehun wonders about the peacefulness that reigns over the Bay. One could almost link the lightness of the air here to the lack of heavy stone. How he loves Stanvaeld, he thinks guiltily with what might be his last cohesive thought, but, oh, how deeply it has hurt him lately.

How deeply.

Sun set comes quickly, and as the ocean rises higher on the beach, it gets quieter. Candles are lit up in front of the houses and along the footbridges, all of them leading up to a very large platform hidden at the centre of the palace. Night is already halfway there, its long fingers painting shadows on every face, and its coat fighting against the large fire built at the centre of the place. Cushions have been settled directly on the wooden planks, the colourful fabric barely washed away by the growing darkness, all of them lined up behind small tables.

When Sehun enters the platform, led by Lady Jayanti and flanked by Tien and Jongdae, the rest of his military escort trailing behind him, it seems to him that the whole village has gathered here. He sees many faces, many eyes upon him, some he knows from Stanvaeld – the members of his Court seem to fit in with the rest of the people quite well – but many more whose traits and physical features he attributes to the inhabitants of the Bay. Whether their skin is dark or they are wearing quite heavy pieces of jewellery, their attention is solely on him. Sehun feels his heartbeat hammering against his temples.

Lady Jayanti stops when they reach the table seemingly presiding over the gathering. She turns to Tien and her soldiers and gestures at them to take place wherever they wish to. Many villagers quickly move away, dragging their cushions with them, to let the soldiers sit together. Tien chooses the table right beside the main one, her eyes dark when she glances at Jongdae, still standing next to Sehun.

“Mighty One,” Lady Jayanti says. “Will you grant me the honour of sitting at my table?”

When Sehun woke up, he found her and Jongdae joking together with their feet planted in the water and their hands gripping strange little baskets full of seaweed. Her tone, this time, is ceremonial, important. The time for joking has passed, and Sehun already misses it. The heaviness of the atmosphere right now is weighing down on his chest.

Jongdae nods and Lady Jayanti thanks him with a slight bow. She glances at Sehun and offers him the hint of a smile as she guides them to the table. When Sehun moves to sit on the left side of the main cushion, she grabs her arm to stop him. He looks at her, confused. Has he been rude somehow? In Stanvaeld, you always sit on the left side of your superior, or the person you wish to honour and respect. Left side is the side closest to the heart of the other person. Sehun has sat at his mother’s left for years.

But Lady Jayanti’s eyes are heavy on him.

“Take the centre,” she tells him. A pause, then she adds, “Please.”

Something in her voice seems so unusual to Sehun that he obliges without attempting to argue. When he does take his place at the centre, a murmur rises amongst the assembly, almost too quiet not to be swallowed away by the constant swell of the ocean. To the people of the Bay, this means nothing more than the usual sharing and respecting the others, but to the nobles from Stanvaeld, this is quite a breach in the way things have always been – and the deities know how they like to set things in stone. Sehun is Great Prince, not King, so he is not meant to preside over any assembly for now. Maybe some of them will understand that things are a bit different here, maybe most of them will carry the affront all the way back to the castle, but Sehun finds he hardly cares.

He watches as Jongdae takes place on his left. Their eyes meet and the hint of a smile lingers between them.

“Welcome,” Lady Jayanti says loudly. She extends her arms on her side, as a mimic of the gesture she had for them hours earlier when she first greeted them. It’s a softer movement now, more reserved but it is one the occasion demands. “We are gathered here to pay tribute to the Queen of Stanvaeld. She has left us in body only, as her soul now sails upon the never-ending waters of the ocean, her ship blessed by the deities.”

This quiets the gathering. Sehun catches a few people nodding, some of them looking up to whisper a prayer to the sky. He wonders about the divine ears they will fall into. Will the words be caught by long, blackened fingers as they would have been in Stanvaeld, or will they be swallowed by immense mouths, chewed by endless rows of teeth as it is expected here? Is his mother resting in far-away skies, held close by divine arms, or is she surrounded by the blinding blue of the ocean, rocked by the quiet dance of the deities carrying her ship on their backs?

“You all know about the Queen,” Lady Jayanti continues. She looks taller against the darkness of the night, her honey-coloured eyes turned golden by the halo of the fire. “When she first entered our kingdom, she did so as a conqueror but it linked us forever. Ah, my friends… I will never forget the look on her face when she crossed the tunnel into the Bay. She had her army on her heels and the longest sword I had ever seen in her hand and yet… yet she simply stood there and looked at us.” She smiles, soft and distant, lost in her memories. “Few sea dragons would look fiercer than she did, that day.”

Lady Jayanti pauses for a short moment. Sehun has heard the story so many times before, but never like that. Never from the point of view of the people of the Bay. His tutors have turned it into a cold account of what stopped the Resource War, minstrels have turned it into a never-ending metaphor glorifying the Queen of Stanvaeld, but Sehun finds more truth than he ever did in the emotions flashing through Lady Jayanti’s eyes. He leans over the table, desperate to catch more.

“She asked to see the throne room. She said we needed to talk, and talk we did.” Lady Jayanti looks up, the softest smile on her face. “The rest, as you all know… is history. She told me about an idea she had that would put an end to the war that had been raging on for ever between the kingdoms. She said she would need my help, so that when we would too need help, we will always have an answer.”

Her fingers slightly curl towards Jongdae. Sehun looks back at him with a little smile.

“Books will tell her story for many centuries,” Lady Jayanti says. “It was a true privilege to live in her time. I will spend the rest of my years asking the deities to preserve our friendship so that when my time to sail away comes, she’ll guide me just as she did in her life.”

A murmur of assent rises in the assembly, catching the attention of every noble from Stanvaeld – and Sehun’s as well.

“Let us feast! For the Queen!”

Sehun startles at the sudden exclamation. More voices raise from the back of the gathering, where darkness is a tad thicker than the flickering light of the fire, and it grows until a single voice thunders above the sound of the ocean all around them.

“And feast we shall! For the Queen!”

Lady Jayanti says in an echo to the demand, the raised hands, the feet hitting the wooden planks in an accelerating rhythm. She drops a handful of powder into the fire and the flames swell, rise even higher to the sky. Its roar overpowers the assembly for a very short second, and its light turns blue and blinding. It burns itself onto Sehun’s retinas, blinds him and forces him to recoil away from the table in a poor attempt to find some much needed darkness. He bumps into Jongdae’s shoulder and feels the latter scoot closer to shield him.

“This is the way of my people,” Lady Jayanti’s voice says from somewhere on his right.

Sehun presses the heel of his hands against his eyes, wonders for a short second at the explosion of light that paints over the darkness on his eyelids and blinks a few times to chase it away. Lady Jayanti has taken her place on the cushion next to him, and her words are only meant for him now. Still half-blinded, Sehun yet does not miss the apologetic look on her round face.

“The fire is meant to burn very bright until the sun rises,” she says. “The light will reach your mother and guide her through the night. Then she will know how well she is loved and how dearly we miss her. Do not worry, your eyes will get used to it.”

Sehun glances at the fire, so hot at its heart that it burns invisible, like glass. Yet, it reminds him of the golden feather he slipped in his mother’s hand before he gave her up to the deities. Everything is different here, from the houses to the way they talk, just like it probably is very different in Jongdae’s land too, but Sehun finds comfort in the idea that their paths all meet at that exact point. Blue fires, songs and golden feathers. Whether it’s meant to appease deities with sharp teeth, to carry to others with long, black fingers, or to escort to some after life, it is all first and foremost about love. 

Lady Jayanti, Jongdae – they all loved his mother. As a Queen, as a warrior… as a friend, too. It makes the blinding aura of the fire so much easier to face. It makes the journey to the Bay seem like less of a waste of time, now.

Sehun falls into the easy, quiet rhythm of the night. Many people come to visit their table with dishes they wish to offer him – or even Jongdae – and stories about the day they saw his mother, or when she spoke directly to them. He hears jokes and laughter, and enjoys the sight of his court members mixing in with the people around them. Lady Jayanti speaks most of the time, her fast fingers working their way through a dish full of shellfish to crack them open and then passing them onto Sehun and Jongdae’s plates. She is radiating love, even when she gently mocks Sehun for not knowing how to fold his seaweed leaf over the sticky ball of tuber and coconut paste, which is a side dish that is so well-spread over her kingdom that _even a three-year old would know how to do it!_ Full of love, even, when she tells about the day Jongdae flew over her beaches and let his magic loose on the raiders, and how it made the coral reefs around her islands shine for many moons.

“Wait,” Sehun says, frowning. He glances at Jongdae, who bites into his perfectly folded seaweed ball. “It made the corals _shine_?”

Lady Jayanti nods. Sehun is captivated by Jongdae’s obvious lack of interest in the topic.

“We could see them even during the day,” Lady Jayanti explains. “The couple of years that followed the war gave us galore in both fishing and cultivating. We have a couple of songs about how it was a gift from the Mighty One after our troubled years with the Raiders.”

This, she says with cheekiness. Sehun catches her exchanging an amused look with Jongdae over his head, and when he turns towards the latter, Jongdae shrugs innocently.

“It happens,” Jongdae says. “I am but a vessel of the magic of my people. I was young and not in complete control. I might have made the corals glow, but who can tell for sure?” The colour in his eyes flickers, white slowly mixing with the already intense blue. “It could have been Orage as well,” Jongdae adds with a smile. “Who can tell?”

Lady Jayanti chuckles, but she quickly dismisses their conversation to focus on another one. ( _“Will Orage be comfortable sleeping on the sand?”_ , _“Oh, yes, don’t worry, she likes to make little sand tornadoes with her snores.”_ ) Sehun mulls over the glowing coral reef though. Jongdae _was_ very young when Lady Jayanti, after almost a year of struggling against the raiders on her own, asked for help from the Alliance. Sehun remembers the preparations. He was eleven years old? Maybe twelve. Which means Jongdae was only thirteen years old, fourteen at best.

And he won the war.  
And made coral reefs glow. Also, apparently, he helped a whole kingdom get back on its feet after a very destructive war.  
Mighty One, they call him. Back in Stanvaeld, they fear him. The very same story would have had very different results there.

“Was it you, or was it Orage?” Sehun asks a few hours later.

The sky is stretching in striations of softer colours above their heads. Dark blue still largely overpowers, but there’s a lightness to it far above the cliffs, a softness that will soon reveal brightness. Lady Jayanti just declared the feast over upon noticing that veins of soot had made their way to the edge of the platform then down to the ocean. “The deities have heard us,” she then said, and that seemed to please her.

Sehun would probably be pleased too, but he knows himself too tired to feel anything he should be feeling. He consciously chooses to forget about the blue fire and the soot, only to focus on Jongdae walking him to his room.

“What do you mean?” Jongdae asks, oh but he knows exactly what Sehun means. It seems to amuse him greatly to pretend not to though.

“The corals. Was it you or Orage?”

Jongdae smiles sweetly at him, but instead of replying, he comes to a stop. Sehun only then notices they have reached the little wooden hut that contains his chamber. He swallows back a groan – he may be dead tired, he is not as obtuse as to forget how the Great Prince should behave, so he turns around to face Tien. He was so focused on Jongdae that he didn’t pay attention to her doings, but she was waiting for no order. Loyal to her role and duties, she stands a few steps behind Sehun, her soldiers in perfect rows after her. The image forces a smile out of Sehun.

“Oh, Tien,” he says, and it ends up in a sigh. “Please, go and rest.” His eyes jump from one face to the other. They all carried their weapons and armours into the feast, just like they’ve carried them throughout the journey and the metal framing their bodies does a wonderful job at hiding how slumped their shoulders are. “All of you,” he adds. “Go and rest.”

“We will stand guard,” Tien protests, and she reminds him of Qing. The wordless indignation on her face at how he seems to be thinking she is tired, the hint of defiance as she unconsciously straightens her back and how she faces him, unwavering. She would draw her sword and challenge him into a duel if she was more than Captain and he was less than Great Prince.

“I _have_ a guard,” Sehun says. He glances at Jongdae, still on his left and exchanges a short look with him. “Jongdae will stay with me. You can all go.”

Tien openly gauges Jongdae from his toes to his hair with distaste. It is not the hatred and repulsion the court members express so heartily whenever Jongdae crosses their path, nor is it the cautious, military mistrust her own soldiers have acted upon every time Jongdae got too close to them during the journey; it is a childlike sort of jealousy, one that place Jongdae as her rival and Sehun as the treasure they both covet. This, too, seems to entertain Jongdae and he is quick to use it to his advantage.

“Oh, guard him I will,” he singsongs. He shoves his index finger in his mouth and pulls his lips in an upward gesture to flash his pointy teeth at the garrison. “Your swords will never be as sharp as these,” he adds, his voice muffled by the rictus he has forced on his mouth and his eyes twinkling with pleasure.

Tien frowns and anger rises in the eyes of her soldiers. Sehun hastily reaches to take Jongdae’s wrist and pulls it away from his mouth, which Jongdae lets him do without a flinch. He does flash the tip of his tongue at the soldier who was so disapproving of his coming with them. The image of Orage jumping around with the children, playing with them and toppling them over swarms Sehun’s mind and he stops for a short second to consider Jongdae’s face just as he pulls his arm away from his mouth. His eyes are still blue, but they have been for hours now. He still carries himself like a man would, but Sehun can’t deny the playfulness crinkling up his eyes nor can he ignore the openness of his staring at the soldier. One would think that it would have become easier to pinpoint the switches between him and Orage by now, but it is mere wishful thinking. Sehun is only starting to realise that there is always a bit of Orage mixed with Jongdae, and always a bit of Jongdae mixed with Orage. It is only a matter of who steps back and who moves forward.

Sehun draws back his focus on Tien. He slightly bows and flashes her an apologetic smile.

“It will be alright,” he says, but he sees that no convincing will ever be enough. The next words stumble out of his mouth without his authorization, “Go and rest for the night. This is an order from your Prince.” He pauses and pretends not to notice the surprised eyes staring back at him. “I will see you all at the Red Diamond Ceremony in the morning.”

This, he intends as a goodnight wish, but he knows it came on too strong, too commanding. He quickly whirls around to cross the last few feet separating him from his room and chooses to appear as confident as his words made him sound like. Jongdae trails after him then hops before him to draw the heavy curtain on the side. He gestures Sehun into the room with a pleased bow then follows him with another hop.

“Spoken like a true King,” he says.

Sehun winces. He looks at the left side of the room. The architecture may be elaborate and beautiful, he deeply regrets his chambers back in the castle. The walls there are thick, rock solid. They feel very safe and protective. Here, he expects to see Tien’s shadow move through the wood any moment. He waits, but no one comes to pull the curtain, and he does hear the heavy boots of his soldiers on the bridge, but he cannot see any of them move. Slowly, but surely, quietness rises again all around his room, only disturbed by the continuous clapping of the water.

Sehun turns back towards Jongdae, but freezes at the look on the latter’s face.

“You have the right to order them around,” Jongdae says. Gone is the playfulness and lightness. This Jongdae would not hop around, nor would he lean down in a mocking bow. He is the Jongdae of serious talks, the Jongdae whose eyes weigh heavier than anything Sehun has ever carried before. They’re black and bottomless. “You are Prince and they are soldiers.”

“I know,” Sehun says. But the surprised looks haunt his mind. Tien’s anger was more intimate. She looked like the little girl he remembers when she glared at him for his mistakes. “But it still felt… improper.”

Jongdae scoffs, but his indignation at least has the merit to force him into motion. Sehun tries not to show too much of his relief when Jongdae breaks out of his stillness to step towards the large bed.

“ _Improper_ ,” Jongdae mumbles. He leans down and places his hands against the frame of the bed. “So many rules, so many traditions that you don’t even know what you can and cannot do anymore.”

His frown deepens as he starts pushing the bed away from the centre of the room. Sehun quickly jumps on the side with a yelp of surprise.

“What are you doing?!”

“Making room,” Jongdae says quite matter-of-factly. “It is time you start training with a sword again. I can’t have my King running around with absolutely no skill to defend himself with.”

Sehun blushes very hard at that – and if he has to be honest, it is more about the possessiveness than the title he has not earned yet. It gives Jongdae the few seconds he needs to move the bed against the far wall. The room is much smaller than what Sehun is used to and most of the space is taken by the very large bed. There are few pieces of furniture – just a small chest of drawers and a pedestal table – which are already pushed against the walls. Jongdae’s rearrangement of the room leaves most of its centre empty, save for the very large bamboo rug. 

Jongdae turns to him, rubbing his palms together, then gestures at the rug with a little smile.

“It… Jongdae, it is very late, and I am so, _so_ tired.”

“Ah, I see,” Jongdae says with a nod. He stares unblinkingly at Sehun. “Is that an order from my King?”

Again, the air rushes out of Sehun’s lungs. Black eyes are pinning him down where he is standing, and they are more Jongdae’s than they are Orage’s, but the playfulness is still there, hidden away in the darkness. It merely ripples on the surface of Jongdae’s irises, but it hits Sehun in full force.

“You’re taunting me,” he complains.

“I would never,” Jongdae says. He reaches out and grabs Sehun’s wrist to pull him into the centre of the room. “I am merely assessing how protective I need to be. Just a few spars. I want to see.”

Sehun scoffs, but gives in. He may not know how to differentiate Jongdae’s actions from Orage’s yet, but he has learned that Jongdae is as immovable as any pillar of black stone propping up the keep in Stanvaeld, and he has too little energy for anything else other than yielding to Jongdae’s will.

“Just a few spars,” he echoes. His fingers find their way to the grip of his sword. “Then, we sleep.”

He draws his sword.

“As my King wishes,” Jongdae agrees.

He places his own hands in a perfect imitation of Sehun’s, except that there’s no sword between Jongdae’s fingers. Sehun is about to ask him when light flashes through the room, blinding but fleeting. The blue fire’s halo was mild compared to the violence of this sudden explosion of brightness, and it takes many seconds for Sehun to blink away the veil of white covering his eyesight. When he finally does, enough so that he can at least look up to Jongdae, he is stunned to find a sword in Jongdae’s hands.

“How…?”

Jongdae smiles, wide and victorious. Sehun can barely see the hilt of his sword, because it seems to be made of pure light. The shape is there, but it’s flickering, like lightning would be. There’s the pommel, the cross-guard and the blade, but every section seems to be made of the same material, as though the sword had been pulled out of a single piece of… of _what_? Sehun takes a step closer to Jongdae, completely awed by the weapon in his hands. It is made of lightning, or at least, it is what is closer to the way it looks like. It radiates light and it slightly crackles, and yet, Jongdae holds it tightly, unbothered by the power coursing between his fingers.

“How is that even possible?” Sehun eventually asks. The tip of his own sword drags on the rug as he takes the couple of steps left between him and Jongdae. He dares not to lean towards the sword, lest it strike him with its strange power, but he still watches intently. “How did you…?”

Jongdae smiles and lowers his sword.

“I just did,” he says, simply. He takes in the wonder on Sehun’s face and chuckles. “I guess that answers your previous question.”

Sehun looks up. “My question?”

Jongdae smiles again, but he says nothing more. He presses the palm of his hand against Sehun’s chest to force him to step back, and the touch sends a wave of warmth throughout Sehun’s body. It burns away the tiredness and every little doubt and fear constantly gnawing at his mind until all is left is the present time. Jongdae, his magic sword, and Sehun, in the same room, about to spar just for fun.

“Let me see your parries,” Jongdae says. “I will attack and you will counter my moves.”

“Is that an order?” Sehun says, and Jongdae flashes him that special smile in return.

Something grows, wide and wider, in Sehun’s chest, right where the warmth of Jongdae’s touch, yet so cold, spread through his body. He feels the shift around them, how the world shrinks back to the two of them. He forgets about Tien, forgets about the soldiers, and even Lady Jayanti slowly evaporates from his mind. Of his mother, he only keeps the knowledge that she was but is no more. Sejun is so easy to dismiss. Stanvaeld, the red diamonds, the way the sun strikes the red throne with so much intent and how there’s art and beauty amongst the dark stone as well – Sehun lets it all go.

Jongdae thrusts forward with his strange sword and Sehun barely manages to stop him mid-course, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Their swords make no sound when they clash, and it should make him wonder, but Sehun finds he does not care. His lungs seem larger and the air he breathes in, fresher. There’s fatigue sticking to his muscles, but it’s a new sort of fatigue, one that feels good and relaxing. Jongdae keeps attacking and Sehun keeps blocking him, save for the many times he fails and Jongdae’s blade touches him. It is a very sharp sword, and yet when it touches Sehun’s skin, it feels cold and blunt – harmless. Sehun does not ask, because he knows Jongdae’s answer won’t make any sense to him anyway.

The sun rises all around them. It touches the ocean before it reaches them. The high cliffs surrounding the Bay drench Sehun’s little hut with their shadows and the curtain is thick enough to block any outside brightness. Light does trickle little by little into the room, through the back window or tiny little cracks between the wooden planks of the walls, but Sehun is too far gone to care. Or maybe it is the opposite, and he is too present to notice.

So when the back of his knees hits the bedframe and he topples over it, dropping his sword in his mild fall, he has absolutely no idea how long they have been playing this little sparring game. Jongdae towers over him, wide grin and bright eyes. The constellations on his cheeks seem softer to Sehun.

“Oh,” he realises suddenly, and it comes out in a pant. “My previous question,” he says, then adds, “I asked you about the corals. I asked if it was your doing, or Orage’s.”

Jongdae’s smile widens. He raises his sword and it suddenly disappears. There’s no dust, no smoke, not even the remnant of its brightness to account for its presence: it is simply gone.

“What do you think then?” Jongdae says. His eyes appear to be a bit lighter than they were when they first started. Black has turned into a very dark shade of brown, and Sehun finds it so much more interesting than black. Black stones, black castle, black crown, but brown eyes.

“It was you,” he says simply.

Jongdae’s eyes lower and Sehun can feel them travelling over his face. Here, he is looking at his cheeks, and his cheeks burn. Then comes the tip of his nose, and it tickles. It is the skin over his chin that prickles after, and, eventually, his lips. The world shrinks a little more so that the only thing that matters, the centre of everything, is the visual contact between Jongdae’s eyes and Sehun’s lips.

“You better sleep now, my King,” Jongdae says, but he does not look away. “It will be easy to put your mind to rest after all this exercising.”

Sehun frowns but, as always, Jongdae eludes him before he can ask. He does find it quite hard to even want to stand up, for the bed has softened all around him and welcomed him into its blankets, but he would hardly say it is more because of the sparring rather than the very late hour – or rather early hour. The night has been long and eventful after all. Oh but it all seems so distant to him right now. The words from the many villagers, the stories, the food… Even the blue fire has faded in his mind. He knows his memory does not honour how bright, how big and powerful it was but he cannot seem to fix it. There was grief and longing too, and hurt, but it seems that training with Jongdae has taken his body too far into fatigue, and it already slips past his control.

“Stop thinking,” Jongdae says, in a much lower voice. He leans down to take Sehun’s sword and places it against the wall. “Don’t ruin my efforts, please.”

He winks at Sehun, very pleased, and Sehun half-snorts half-breathes out.

“Always taking the merit for everything,” he grumbles, but it comes out in a much softer voice than he intended to. “I understand what you were trying to achieve now. But do ask yourself… This,” Sehun gestures at the bed, at himself, at the sword, at their little world, tucked away from the wider one. “Was it your doing or mine?”

Jongdae laughs as he puts Sehun’s legs on the bed, one after the other.

“It may have been a bit of both,” he admits.

Sehun smiles, triumphant, but his face feels as distant as everything else now, and he almost wonders at the way his smile must look. Almost, because thinking is now costing him as greatly as speaking does. He only knows how to look into Jongdae’s face, and he also knows it pleases him greatly that Jongdae is staring back. Very wild ideas swoop down on Sehun’s mind, but he has too few words to try and express them, which is truly a shame. He has a feeling if he could ask Jongdae to stay with him, if he could gesture him to lie down next to him, he would have a very peaceful rest.

“Sleep now,” Jongdae says. He leans down and presses the tip of his fingers against Sehun’s head. “Sleep.”

Coldness spreads under Jongdae’s fingers, and it seeps deep beneath Sehun’s skin. He would marvel at the sensation, at the light crackling sound he thinks he heard, but he’s already gone. In fact, he was gone the very moment Jongdae touched his forehead. He slips into heavy slumber, where darkness is welcoming and everything is thick, and he is falling but he isn’t scared. He isn’t sad. He is simply gone. There is nothing else to him: no fear, no grief, no feeling of suffocating, not even a body. He is simply gone.

Until he comes back.

Adrenaline forces him right back into his body. It burns in his veins, and burns in his mind. His thoughts are still all over the place, but Sehun sits up in a jolt as a reflex, wincing at the vertigo and the confusion weighing down on him. He blinks once, twice, to try and chase sleep away, but it is like trying to run when you’re knee deep in swamp water.

Something is wrong though, he knows it. He can feel it. It has awakened him, but it was purely instinctive and now, he is desperately trying to force his logic to sort it all out. He registers the brightness, the underpants and shirt he is still wearing – although his outer robe is neatly folded on the drawer chest – and the sword against the back wall. Sehun makes to take it when he registers what woke him up, and what has been trying to slip past the slurry in his mind ever since.

Voices are rising outside, and there is a lot of stomping around and about.

This finishes to jerk him awake. He hops off his bed and grabs his sword, leaving the belt and the rest of his garments behind as he makes his way to the curtain. It opens before he can reach it though, and both Tien and Jongdae barge into his room.

“What is going on?” Sehun asks.

Jongdae rushes to him, the tip of his fingers turned blue and it scares Sehun so much that he takes a step back. Jongdae does not pause, nor does he show any sign of hurt at the gesture. He only walks up to Sehun, grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him back against the bed to force him to sit down. He takes Sehun’s face in his hands.

“Jongdae!” Sehun yelps. He takes Jongdae’s wrist to try and pull it away, his heart thundering in his chest. He can see the blue smeared on Jongdae’s thumbs in his peripheral vision – no, not smeared. They _are_ blue. It looks like Jongdae’s skin was torn apart only to reveal another layer made of ice beneath it.

Sehun thinks of deities and blackened fingers reaching out, grabbing, leaving marks, and he pulls harder on Jongdae’s wrist.

“Great Prince,” Tien hastily says. Only a mere seconds have passed since she and Jongdae have run into the room. “Lady Jayanti is sick. The Beast Rider seems to think …” She pauses and throws an unsure look towards Jongdae, but even Sehun can read the worry on her face. “He wanted to make sure you were not sick too.”

“What?” Sehun gasps.

He looks up towards Jongdae with shock. The latter’s grip on his face tightens and it’s only then that Sehun notices the coldness of his palms against his cheeks and the numbness that comes from it spreading down his neck. He has seen magic on Jongdae plenty of times, but every one of those moments may have been just a hint more than a revelation, because Jongdae now radiates power Sehun has never witnessed before. There’s a low hum emanating from him, a faint fizzle that only intensifies whenever Jongdae moves. His magic is explosive, and it’s flowing everywhere inside Sehun, forcing its way with so much ease into his guts, licking at his bones, thickening his blood. Sehun can feel his own body jerk to the touch. His leg muscles are clenching and cramping on the bed.

“Jongdae,” Sehun says in a whisper. Jongdae’s eyes flicker back to him for a very short second. They are so blue now that it has spilled over his irises somehow. The result is so strange to see that it is frightening, but Sehun finds he can’t look away. “Jongdae, please.”

The hum around them slightly intensifies. Sehun is cold to his bones. He can’t feel his toes, can’t feel his fingers, but he knows that the fear seizing his heart is his only. He presses his fingers into Jongdae’s wrists with every ounce of strength he can muster. Jongdae looks down. His eyes are gemstones – blue like topazes, iridescent like opals, mottled like lapis.

“She is sick?” Sehun asks. “Is it…?”

Jongdae stares at him for a couple of seconds – or Sehun thinks he does. His eyes are so unnatural now and coupled with those hands that look like they belong to some divine arms, Jongdae is barely recognizable. But the slight twitch of his lips, the way he takes in Sehun and finally pulls his hands away… that is still Jongdae.

“Thank the stars, you are alright,” he says. It seems to confuse him greatly, but only for a short moment. He quickly centres himself. “Lady Jayanti is vomiting blood. Her eyes and nose are bleeding as well. We thought…”

“By the deities,” Sehun breathes out.

His mother, lying on her bed, her lips slightly parted in wordless surprise, and the blood drying in the hair at her temples, the blood under her nose, the blood like a halo crown on her pillows.

Sehun stands up.

“We have to help,” he says. He takes back Jongdae’s wrist in his hand. “Can you help?”

“Wait,” Tien cuts in. She takes another step towards them. Jongdae’s appearance does not seem to bother her the slightest. In fact, her whole attention is on Sehun, without a single care for the magic creature sizzling next to them. “Are you _sure_ he is fine?” she asks, but not Sehun.

Jongdae looks at her. Or, he tilts his head towards her and angles his face to her. His eye sockets slightly tremble, hint of a movement both Sehun and Tien cannot catch. His irises and pupils are gone. The colours are moving inside his eyes. There’s life and fire there, no doubt. _Lightning more than fire_ , Sehun corrects in his mind upon seeing a new vein of white cross Jongdae’s eyes.

“Of course I am sure,” Jongdae says.

“What if it’s contagious?”

“It is not.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“ _Enough!_ ”

Both Jongdae and Tien turn to look at Sehun. One is surprised, the other is… unreadable. Sehun drops his sword on the bed.

“Let us go,” he says to Jongdae. He _orders_ would be more correct. To Tien, he throws a glaring look. “Gather the soldiers. Make sure no one else is sick in the palace and on the beach. Then report to me.”

There’s tension in her neck when she bows, but no challenge in her eyes.

“Yes, Great Prince.”

Sehun nods then gestures at Jongdae to move. The latter quickly obliges. He crosses the room in very long strides and almost tears off the curtain when he exits Sehun’s chamber. Sehun follows suit.

It is chaos, outside. The sun hasn’t reached its peak yet – it is still quite early – but no one stops to wonder at the beautiful shadows growing on the footbridges. Sehun recognises many of the people running around as common folks who were there the night before. Some are carrying buckets of water usually followed by a few transporting herbs for teas in dried seaweed baskets, others are hastily placing wide, flat stones on the platforms so they can drink in the sunlight and its warmth to heat up and be of use – if use of them was to happen. Jongdae and Sehun cross paths with plates of food and many smelly poultices on trails, all of them moving in the same direction.

Louder than the commotion comes a drawn-out whine. Sehun turns his head and is surprised to find Orage standing at the edge of the ocean, behind the many little huts built there. She seems to be very distressed as she paces back and forth along the water, as though trying to find a way into the palace. Unfortunately, although she does test it out a couple of times, the footbridges are not meant to support her full weight, and despite being spread out over the creek, the many parts of the palace are built too close to each other to allow her to fully enter the water and come to them. Her wide eyes meet Sehun’s and she whines, louder and longer.

Jongdae grabs Sehun’s wrist and lifts his arm above his head.

“He is alright,” he says to no one. He looks at Sehun to consider him then nods to himself. “He is alright.”

Orage whines again, but it is a lower sound this time. Confused, Sehun goes from Jongdae’s too full eyes to Orage’s – they’ve mostly returned to their crescent shape, the fear less obvious on her face, but just like Jongdae’s have gone through quite the transformation, her own seem to have been drained of their colours. She watches Jongdae and Sehun move hastily across the bridges and platforms with white glowing irises.

“Is she alright?” Sehun asks Jongdae.

Jongdae lowers his arm but keeps his fingers around Sehun’s wrist.

“She was scared for you.”

Surprised, Sehun turns to look back at Orage. Again, their eyes meet, and Orage holds out her thin muzzle towards him. She hunches her very large shoulders and plops down where she is in a defeated manner. Her size is enough that it reverses the tide for a short second and a small wave ripples away from the beach and towards the far ocean. Sehun watches it pass under the bridge he is currently hurrying over. He feels the cold water wet his feet when the tip of the wave goes over the wood and floods the platforms.

He looks back at Orage and waves at her on a whim.

“I am alright!” he screams and her ears perk up at that. He barely has time to catch the tip of her long tail following the movement before Jongdae shoves him inside another hut.

Lady Jayanti’s chamber is barely larger than the one she offered to Sehun. The main difference is that hers connects to another hut from the back wall, one that, Sehun supposed, cannot be reached through any of the footbridges outside. It is modestly furnished, with a large bed and a great chest at its feet, and one would never guess this is a Queen’s place of rest.

She is there, though. Lady Jayanti is sitting at the edge of her bed, her coyly hair sticking to the sweat on her face and her warm skin now washed out to a sick greyish tone. She is doubled over a bucket, her long fingers clenching on it. It seems to be moving at first, but Sehun quickly realises the little hops are just the result of the great trembling shaking Lady Jayanti’s legs. Another woman is standing by her side, her hands pressed against Lady Jayanti’s neck. She lifts her head upon their entering and intense relief washes over her face.

“Mighty One!”

Sehun and Jongdae rush to the bed in unison although – and Sehun’s mind, stripped to mere instincts and reflexes by the urgency and the heaviness of the air inside the hut still catches on to it – Sehun’s presence is absolutely not needed. The woman, which he identifies as the Bay’s Healer from the many ointments and herbs spread all around her, immediately turns to Jongdae with very wide eyes.

“I do not understand, I… I have tried everything, and yet she still bleeds.”

Her face is heavy with fear, and Sehun does not blame her for it. He kneels by Lady Jayanti’s side and both the ferrous smell clinging to her and the horrific sight of her face, streaked with blood, hit him hard. She must feel her presence because she tries to look at him, but her eyes roll in their sockets and a spasm goes through her body. She leans over the bucket, parts her lips and blood cascades down her chin.

“You should not…” the Healer starts, looking down at Sehun. “The Great Prince should keep his distance. I fear it might be contagious and…”

“It is alright,” Jongdae interrupts her. He reaches out to take her hands in his and pulls her away from Lady Jayanti with gentleness. Looking up, Sehun does not see any of the fear he himself felt upon noticing Jongdae’s fingers on the woman’s face. It is quite the contrary actually. She manages to wriggle her hands out of Jongdae’s grip and ends up squeezing them between her own fingers.

“Mighty one,” she says. No, she _begs_. “Do something, please. Please. The deities will listen to you. Please.”

Jongdae glances at Lady Jayanti then looks back at the Healer.

“Go and gather a group of people to clean this room. The smell of blood is too strong here, but I suspect Lady Jayanti will be too weak to move to another room right away. Wait for me to call out for you before coming back in.” She nods and Jongdae pulls his hands away from her fingers. “Go,” he says.

She does not need to be asked twice. Without a single glance to her own herbs and concoctions, she rushes out of the room. Sehun hears her voice, stripped from the trembling tone she still had a mere seconds before. She is talking in the singing language of Hullmast, but her intonations make her orders and demands quite clear. Sehun draws back his focus on Jongdae, pushing aside the stampede and the several other voices outside from his mind.

He has a ton of questions, but he is afraid of asking, afraid of opening his mouth and breathing in the foul air around Lady Jayanti. He cannot pull away though. Tears of blood are streaming down her cheeks, more blood is coming out of her nose and the flow running down her chin is now continual. His throat burns as bile rises up and floods his mouth, but he can’t look away. He was robbed of his mother’s last living moments, and her dying alone with her pain and suffering has haunted him ever since. If this is Lady Jayanti’s last minutes in this world, he’ll hold her hand through it, just like he should have done with his mother.

So he reaches out and puts his hand over one of Lady Jayanti’s. The spasms going through her body makes it a bit difficult for him to slip his fingers between her palm and the bucket she is gripping, but he eventually manages, and when he does, he holds her tight, determined.

Jongdae has moved closer to Lady Jayanti as well. He gently lifts her face towards him, his fingers crooked under her chin. Blood immediately smears over his hand, although weirdly leaving out the tip of his fingers, but Jongdae does not seem to mind. He takes in the Lady’s face with his otherworldly gaze then rests his second hand over her eyes. Something crackles in the room and the bucket emits a low hum as light vibrations course through it. Sehun’s fingers catch on the surface a couple of times as he tries to pry Lady Jayanti’s fingers open, and it sends a jolt of warmth up to his spine every time. He finally manages to free the bucket, and it falls to the floor with a loud thud and spills its content all over the timber flooring.

Sehun watches Jongdae, both Lady Jayanti’s hands secured in his. He cannot see him doing anything, and yet he knows he is doing plenty. Her skin quickly gets colder and colder against his, and her spasms soon die out, leaving her rigid and unresponsive to his touch. Jongdae is quiet, motionless, but he’s the centre of gravity of the whole room. Sehun dares not to breathe, lest it throws the process off balance, but he keeps holding on to Lady Jayanti’s hands as though he was the one drowning and she was the one keeping afloat.

And he keeps thinking about his mother.  
The blood, the smell. The loneliness, the fear. Would it have been different if the organisation in the Stanvaeld castle was the same as here? If she had nothing more than a curtain as the door to her chambers?  
Could it have been different?

He thinks about Dahlia, too. About the mix of fragrances following her around when she walks, like a garden of flowers trailing after her. She has not come, none of the Council members has, but the procession is filled with merchants and unknown faces – even the ones he knows Sehun does not trust. She is a powerful woman and the royal court is just what every court is: a play of opportunities and chances. How easily could she bribe them? How easily could they all betray their kingdom?

Sehun’s resolve is like fire in the back of his throat. It burns and melts his soul, turning it into magma. He’ll unleash hell over them, the deities be his witnesses, he will spit fire over the whole lot of them.

“It was the same poisonous magic that killed your mother,” Jongdae croaks out after what feels like hours.

Sehun lifts his head with a jolt. He hasn’t even noticed Lady Jayanti’s hands relax in his, so the difference is quite striking. She is still sitting, but only because Jongdae is holding her there, one hand on her back and the other cradling her face. Her eyes are closed and her lips parted in a terrible, oh so terrible, reminder of the expression on the Queen’s face when she died. Colour has infused back into her cheeks though, and her breathing, although laboured, is regular and deep.

Sehun looks up at Jongdae and is horrified to see the blood trickling down his nose.

“Jongdae,” he starts, but he silences him with a shake of his head.

“Help me lay her down,” he says instead.

Sehun obliges. He lets go of Lady Jayanti’s hands and is surprised to find his fingers cramped and numb. How long has it been since Jongdae started with his magic? He gets back up on his feet and gathers the Lady’s legs in his arms as Jongdae gently spins her on the bed. They coordinate with a look and lay her down on her bed. Her skin feels warmer than it was when Jongdae first touched her, but it’s still colder than it should be. It has the merit to have at least dried the sweat on her body.

“Are you alright?” Sehun asks after he made sure Lady Jayanti is still sleeping – or whatever she’s doing.

Jongdae’s eyes linger on the body on the bed, but he finally turns his attention to Sehun. He keeps his gaze lowered though, and just as Sehun is about to reach out to him, he spreads his arms before him, joins his fingers and bows the lowest Sehun has ever seen him bow. It freezes him on the spot.

“My King, I ask for your forgiveness,” Jongdae says. His voice is weak, fragile. It makes Sehun want to touch and to hold.

“Jongdae,” he says again, in a much softer voice.

But Jongdae does not budge. “I had suspected it, but this incident has confirmed it. It was the same magic that poisoned Lady Jayanti’s body as the one that killed our Queen. Yet I could heal Lady Jayanti.” He pauses and lets out a trembling breath. “I could have saved her. Had I stayed by her side, I would have saved her.”

It takes Sehun by surprise. Both because Jongdae says these words with great shame, as though they were a terrible thing to admit, but also because they are so obviously heavy to Jongdae, so hurtful and haunting. Yet Sehun had never expected such a shadow to weigh down on Jongdae, had never even thought about regrets like those. In the still moments which follow Jongdae’s confession, Sehun tries to convince himself it is because he had never truly realised the amount of power Jongdae has within him. He tries to tell himself that if he did imagine Jongdae riddled with regret, it probably was of the same kind as him. The volatile, useless regret in every _I should have done this or that_ \- oh so heavy but also misty and so abstract that it becomes phantom pain. There’s nothing hypothetical in Jongdae’s pain right now though, and there probably never was. He had the power to really change the odds, and it was just proved to him.

“Jongdae,” Sehun repeats.

Jongdae’s fingers clench – they have reverted back to their usual colour. Skin looks like skin again. 

“Jongdae, please.”

Sehun finally reaches out. He takes Jongdae’s hands and forces him up. Jongdae struggles against his push and pull and tries to break away from his grasp, but he lacks intent and strength. His words seemed to have emptied him so that when he finally looks up and meets Sehun’s eyes, he lets out a soft, broken whine and falls to his knees. Sehun follows him, his heart beating loudly in his chest. He instinctively gathers Jongdae in his arms and holds him tight.

“I was supposed to serve her, but I failed. She is in the stars now, and she must be so mad. She has to watch me try to protect you even after I failed her!”

“You haven’t failed her. By the deities, you haven’t failed me either. You will never,” Sehun says.

How strange it is to feel Jongdae’s body against his. Sehun is almost shocked to realise how small he is. Wasn’t he taller before? Yet, it is easy to wrap his arms around him, and even easier to overpower him. He is so skinny Sehun can feel the muscles roll under his robes, he feels the bones jutting out, and how fragile Jongdae truly is. His neck is so thin, it would be so easy to snap it, and it scares Sehun so much that when he grabs Jongdae’s wrists to block them with his fingers, he uses as little force as possible. But Jongdae cannot pull away from his grasp.

“You have not failed either of us,” Sehun says.

Jongdae watches him with heavy eyes. Their darkness had always seemed so deep to Sehun, bottomless, but they look closed off right now. His cheekbones are delicate more than they are strong. The drying blood under his nose is the same colour as Sehun’s, and his skin has a feverish look to it. Sehun thinks about how scared he was when he saw Jongdae’s fingertips, blue and crackling, and how it immediately reminded him of the deities and their merciless touch. Now, he fears they truly have touched his Jongdae. He fears that their all-seeing eyes have caught the power in the Beast Rider and they have rushed to him to seize it all for themselves.

If he were to look, would he find dark handprints over Jongdae’s body?

Oh, he would like to see them _try_.

Sehun holds Jongdae closer. He nests a hand against the gentle curve of his neck and presses his lips against Jongdae’s forehead.

The hours before Lady Jayanti awakes are endless, even though only two or three pass. Sehun remains by her side, sitting in a strange rounded chair the Healer and her team have brought to him after scrubbing the whole room clean. Jongdae is sitting on the bed so he can check up on her every time he wishes to – which is a lot. There would have been more people waiting in the room, but Jongdae asked the Healer to keep everyone out, and only the Mighty One’s words could force the notion of intimacy on people so little used to it with so much ease. When Tien came back for her report, they heard the Healer argue with her for a few minutes, refusing her passageway into the room until Sehun decided to go to her rescue.

_No one else is sick_ , Tien had said. Sehun was not surprised, and Tien did not look like she was either. There was something else in her eyes when she told him her soldiers had started gathering the court nobles and merchants, _just in case_.

Just in case, Sehun thinks. Tien is most probably right. They cannot stay here much longer, not after what happened. It might look like an unfortunate food intoxication to outer onlookers – and surely it’ll be the version that’ll take over Stanvaeld’s gossiping – but the truth could not be farthest from it. In the stillness of the room, he mulled over the course of events quite a few times, and it brought him to two distinctive conclusions. The first one being that Lady Jayanti truly was the target. She is the strongest ally his mother had in the Alliance, and if his mother’s death really was political, killing off Lady Jayanti next could make sense. And yet, no matter how Sehun looks at it from all angles, he struggles to make sense of it. He also finds the coincidence of it happening during the feast honouring his dead mother quite clumsy, and something tells him they are not facing a debutant assassin here.

The second option is one that makes the most sense for him. Lady Jayanti may not have been the intended target. She could have been collateral damage, and Sehun was the objective. This conclusion comes naturally to him and Sehun stares at it in silence, unfazed. He dismantles it piece by piece, testing it with everything he knows about his mother’s death. He has learned problem solving thinking ever since he was a little boy meant for a crown that would always be too heavy for him, and his reasoning is stronger than his fear. In fact, he does not feel much, just cold and merciless logic. Somehow, that is comforting to him.

If Sehun chooses to believe this course of events, then he has to answer a few questions. For starters, Lady Jayanti being unconscious on the bed rather than him being dead in his implies that the killer made quite the terrible mistake. The magic poison was in the food – what if the killer had no clue about the casual sharing going on in Hullmast? They had several dishes on their table. Sehun ate most of them, but not all. Jongdae had his magic. Lady Jayanti, on the other hand…

Then there’s the _when_. Sehun could have been just as easily poisoned in Stanvaeld, but he has to believe that it happening here, in the Bay, is no accident. Could it pass as coincidental? Food is different here, and it is not unheard that drastically different food can lead to drastic body events happening. But dying?

His eyes stop on Jongdae. He is sitting with his back turned to Sehun, but the hunch of his shoulders, the curve of his neck as he watches over Lady Jayanti leave no room for second-guessing how miserable he is. The skin on Sehun’s hands itches with the urge to reach out and hold Jongdae again. He thinks about the way he and Tien barged into his room earlier and how Jongdae rushed to him to check up on him. The sheer power radiating from him, and those divine fingers pressing against Sehun’s skin. He thinks he will have to believe that the killer intended to kill him rather than the Lady of the Bay, because it is what Jongdae believed too, and he refuses the foolishness of not following Jongdae’s instincts.

Very well, then. He spreads the problem in his mind, like one would flatten a map over a wooden table – just so he can see every bit of relief, every crevasse. Someone wants him dead. Now onto figuring out who and why.

“Mighty One…”

It is nothing but a mumble, but the silence is heavy enough in the room that it echoes like a scream would. Sehun immediately stands up while Jongdae perks up.

“I am here,” Jongdae says. He leans over Lady Jayanti and puts his palm against her forehead once again. He has gotten back to his usual appearance, but his magic is still there, lurking under the surface of his skin. “How are you feeling?”

Sehun joins Jongdae by the bed. He tries to give Lady Jayanti as much space as she could need, not wanting to make her feel like he is circling around her, but the spot just behind Jongdae calls for him either way and Sehun ends up standing there, his hands burning with the want to reach out.

“Weak,” Lady Jayanti says. Her golden eyes sweep through the room in little staccato motion and something relaxes on her face when she notices they are alone. She looks back at them. “It was poison, wasn’t it?”

Jongdae remains still, and Sehun would give every coin in Stanvaeld’s treasury to be able to lean down and take a look at his face. 

“It was,” Sehun says, simply.

Lady Jayanti watches them, the hint of a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

“The Queen’s death was not natural.” It’s not a question, just a terrible realisation. “This is what killed her.”

Sehun nods. Jongdae leans in and takes her hand between his. Unable to resist any longer, Sehun moves closer to his side and places a hand on his shoulder. Jongdae’s fingers are still bluish, as though he had been playing with snow too long, but it’s still skin that’s feeling Lady Jayanti’s hands.

“You will be alright,” he tells her. “Be easy on yourself for a couple of weeks, but it will leave no scar behind. You’ll soon be able to sail again.”

She smiles again, but it does not quite reach her eyes. “Mighty One,” she says, and her voice is laced with gratefulness. The tears swelling in her eyes are for a dead friend, but her smile… her smile is for the one siting by her side. Jongdae squeezes her hand into his.

“I am so sorry,” Sehun lets out. It almost surprises him, for he had not meant his words to take the best of a barely formed thought. It is out now, and there’s nothing he can do but finish it. “My coming here put you in great danger.”

Jongdae looks up at him, brows furrowed. _See?_ Sehun almost says, _I may not be magical, but I’m not stupid_. He does not.

“You came because tradition requires you to,” Lady Jayanti says. Her voice is slightly slurred and her blinking has slowed already. Sleep will reclaim her soon. She has a lot of healing to do. “Pardon me my frank words, Great Prince, but I fear this needs to be said before I pass out again.” She pauses and draws a long breath. It grinds along her windpipes and Sehun tries not to wince. “Something is happening,” she continues. “And I believe you are right to think you are in danger. But you are not alone, Sehun. Whatever happens, know that Hullmast will stand by your side, just like we did for you mother.” Her eyes flicker to Jongdae. “You will not lack friends to aid if help is what you need. Just try and make sure you know who they are, my boy.”

Sehun’s throat clenches and words mingle in his mind. She could not be more physically different from his mother, with her dark skin and her mane of wild hair, but her eyes share the same intensity his mother’s did, and the way she said his name and called him boy with such gentleness and affection… It could have been his mother in this bed and her words would have been the exact same. Sehun let her go when they burned her; he’ll never hold her hand anymore or see her loving smile, and he misses her so.

This, he can never process with logic and reasoning.

“We have to leave as soon as possible,” Jongdae says. He glances at Sehun then places his own hand over Sehun’s on his shoulder. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Lady Jayanti nods with a little smile.

“All those traditions and rules… we are a people of the sea, we venerate the ocean and live with its tides. It does not matter how many days you were supposed to stay. The wind has picked up, and it is time to hoist the mainsail. We understand that.”

Jongdae nods with a little smile. He pulls his hand away from Sehun’s and stands up.

“I will tell Tien,” he says.

His eyes linger a bit on Sehun’s face before he turns around and walks out of the room. Sehun cannot help but follow every step he takes with eager eyes. Most of Jongdae’s anguish seems to have disappeared, but how much has he actually buried deep is yet another question. Sehun is slowly starting to learn the difference between seeing someone and knowing someone. He may have laid flat too many problems and people as though they were maps in his mind.

“Hullmast’s farthest islands are up to the north,” Lady Jayanti says, pulling out Sehun from his reverie. He looks back at her. “They are so far in fact that if you were to swim straight to the shore from one of them, you would get to the mountains north of Stanvaeld. Did you know that?”

Sehun nods with a little smile. “I am familiar with the maps of your kingdom. I know which archipelago you are talking about.”

Lady Jayanti smiles at that, and despite the fatigue weighing down on it, Sehun thinks he sees indulgence in it.

“They have legends in these islands, about a strange kind of people living up in the mountains, unaware of the biting cold and the harsh conditions. They tell those stories like you would tell about your deities living up in the sky. It is a holy sign to see the shadow of a winged beast over there. They pray to gods too, but their gods have faces and changing eyes. If you were to take Jongdae to those islands, you would see… You would see…”

She struggles to find her words, eyebrows furrowing in frustration but there’s emptiness in her eyes already and Sehun expects her to slip past reality any moment now. Yet he places both his hands on the mattress as he leans down, not wanting to miss a single word.

“I would see?” he echoes.

She blinks at him, and her eyes glaze over. She parts her lips, lets out a little sigh and her frowns deepen.

“I told your mother… I told her how strange it all seemed to me that you all like jewels so much, and yet, you do not see. Some things are more precious than stone.” Clarity flashes through her face, fleeting but enough for her to address him the hint of a smile. “I think you might be different.”

She blinks then, but she does not reopen her eyes. Sehun stays still for a few more seconds, his heart thundering in his chest. Tension pools at the bottom of his stomach until he resolves to let it go with a deep sigh. He straightens and checks Lady Jayanti’s pulse with gentle fingers, just in case.

_Their gods have faces and changing eyes._ And blue fingertips, he supposes.

Sehun slightly smiles to the silence around him, his eyes taking in Lady Jayanti’s sleeping face. She looks peaceful, as peaceful as one recovering from such poison can be. She is saved, at least. His challenge to the deities is one that stretches to everyone he cares for. He will not lose anyone else to fate and circumstances. He will not allow it, whether it is Jongdae, Lady Jayanti, or…

Sehun straightens up with a jolt, air rushing out of his lungs in a loud gasp.

_Sejun_.

“This is unacceptable!”

He turns his head towards the source of the angry voice just as it enters the hut, carried by Tien, whose usual neutral face is now distorted by anger. Jongdae is trailing after her, his lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl.

“You will _not_ scream and yell here,” Sehun quickly says in a whisper, raising a hand to silence them. His own heart is still pounding hard in his chest, tension about to overload it. If someone has to scream, it should be _him_ because his own little brother could be in grave danger right now and he hasn’t even thought about him once, and – “Show some respect.”

He can’t do this, not right now, not when Sejun could be vomiting blood all over himself behind closed doors.

“My Prince,” Tien says after an expeditious bow. Her anger is chipping away at her usual gracefulness. “The Beast Rider tells me that you wish to go back to Stanvaeld as soon as possible?”

Sehun’s eyes go from Jongdae to Tien. He nods and Tien squints at him.

“You truly are planning to _fly_ there?” she asks, accusingly.

Sehun freezes. He looks back at Jongdae who holds his gaze with defiance Tien could only dream of.

“It would be faster,” Jongdae explains in a growl. His fingers are like claws and there’s death in his eyes when he looks at Tien. “Faster than horses that are not fully rested.”

“He is the Great Prince!” Tien shrieks, redirecting all of her challenge and anger towards Jongdae. Some would say it is easier to glare at a Prince than at a magic being such as Jongdae, but Tien would obviously disagree. “He is to travel with his guard and people! Not… not in the air like some wild creature!”

Jongdae full-on groans at her, his posture morphing into a beast-like one. To her credit, Tien shows absolutely no sign of fear or wish to retreat. Instead, her hand flies to the hilt of her sword.

“Enough,” Sehun snaps. They only half hear him. Jongdae could jump at her throat in a second, and Tien is swift enough that she could do much damage with her blade before he’d get to her, but Sehun has no time for that. His whole being has shrunk down to just one word: _faster_. “How fast?” he asks Jongdae.

Jongdae’s eyes remain on Tien when he answers. “A day and a half, at most.”

Tien’s fingers clench around her sword and she pulls out a few inches from her sheath. A low groan rises inside Jongdae’s chest. His teeth are now in full display. 

_Faster_ , Sehun hears. With tired horses? It could take up to four days to get back to Stanvaeld. Unacceptable indeed.

“I intend to fly back to Stanvaeld,” he says simply.

Tien turns wide eyes to him as his words sink in. She shows disbelief first, then frustration and finally, she is back to square one, to respect and obedience for her Prince. She lets go of the guard of her sword and the perfectly crafted blade slides back on its own into its sheath, the sound metallic and cold. Sehun expects coldness from his captain too, yet when she fully turns to him and bows to show her giving in to his intention, there is something else on her face. Something more feral than the rules they have used to mould her, something almost desperate. She is trying to tell him something, but he does not care.

All he cares about is _faster_.

“You are to bring back the rest of the procession to Stanvaeld safe and sound,” he says. “Go as soon as possible. We…” Sehun glances at Jongdae then back at Lady Jayanti. “We are leaving. Now.”

Tien gives in. It looks physically painful when she bows again. She cannot express her disagreement, she knows not how to, but she blasts it at Sehun with all she can muster. This means her leaving the hut without a single word nor a glance for him. Again, Sehun could not care less.

“Sejun,” he tells Jongdae. “We need to go.”

Jongdae nods and reaches out to grab his arm and he drags him along. Blue floods his eyes faster than Sehun has ever seen. 

Sehun tries to act like he knows what he’s doing all the while being painfully aware of how untimely his self-awareness is. Yet it is hard not to think about how stupid you must look when so many eyes are set on you and you’re being hoisted up a magical creature. Orage is compliantly flattening herself onto the beach, contorting her body between the several houses peppering the beach and leaning on her side to try and help Sehun. Even in that posture, she remains much higher than a horse which makes Sehun’s reflexes completely useless.

A crowd has gathered around them. Thankfully, Tien is already gathering the people from Stanvaeld inside the palace, so most of them will never see their Great Prince slide down a furry shoulder, desperate for a solid grip. The people from the Bay keep quiet as Jongdae finally appears on Orage’s huge shoulder blade and reaches down to grab Sehun by his wrist. He pulls him up like Sehun weighs nothing and helps him into a sitting position as Orage corrects her position to a straighter one. She remains flat on her belly, but now that Sehun is on her back, she doesn’t have to lean on the side anymore.

Sehun glances at the row of anxious faces looking at him while Jongdae works the harness around his legs. He almost speaks a couple of times before the words dissolve in his mind. Lady Jayanti will speak for him when she’ll feel better and assure them of his good intentions: his early departure was not meant to be disrespectful, he just had to leave. He knows it would be better for him to tell that just that, but they present a united front to him, and he isn’t sure how to face them.

“How is it?” Jongdae asks, pulling on the harness with all his strength, feet disappearing in Orage’s fur and body dangling in the void. “Is it secured?”

Sehun glances at the harness covering his legs and wriggles to test its grip. It is tight on his thighs, but not tight enough that it hurts and, as far as he is concerned, the tighter the better.

“Seems good to me,” he tells Jongdae and the latter gives him a short smile. “How about you? Don’t you need it too?”

Jongdae snorts, gives a shake of his head but does not answer – which is quite an answer in itself. He lowers to his knees, as sure on his footing as though Orage was a hill made of solid ground, and presses the flat of his hand deep into the fur on the top of her head. His second hand is quick to join, and Jongdae closes his eyes in silent focus. Suddenly aware that he is not _just_ rushing to get back to Sejun but that he is _flying_ to him, Sehun tries not to choke on the knot in his throat. He feels cold all of a sudden.

“Great Prince?”

Sehun looks down and is surprised to find a woman standing just next to Orage. The voice has also caught Orage’s attention and she tries to glance at this newcomer, but her crooked position on the sand forces her into relative immobility. She can only roll her eyes on the side to take a look at the woman, and the slight whimper she lets out is an annoyed one. Sehun is thankful for the lack of space though. He knows Orage to be quite fidgety and prompt to hops and sudden rolls. As long as he is tied to her back, he would like her to be as still as possible.

“We have gathered a few things,” the woman says, completely unminding the proximity of a giant beast. She holds out a package for him, and Sehun has to reach over to take it. He feels the harness straining against his legs, but it resists the weight of his body. “For you and Mighty One,” she continues. “For the journey.”

Sehun takes her in as he gathers the package in his arms. It weighs more than he would have expected and looking at it, he notices that the blanket holding everything together has been folded like they fold their seaweed over their food.

“You didn’t have to…” he starts.

“Thank you for saving our Lady,” the woman says, dismissing him. Her eyes flicker to Jongdae, still in quiet communion with Orage. “Both of you.”

Sehun resists the urge to tell her that without him, without his coming and the procession of people he brought along, her Lady would be up and about right now. Instead, he decides to behave like a Great Prince, like he’s been taught to do all his life, and he lifts his gaze to the rest of the quiet crowd. He makes sure they all see him when he bows. It’s an awkward bow because of his sitting position and the harness straining his movement, but surely his obvious thankfulness will make up for it.

“Thank you,” he adds. He looks down at the woman again. “For your hospitality, and this.”

She smiles. “Your mother was a really good woman but I think you might be a really good man too.”

Sehun wets his lips, his heart missing a beat for no reason at all. The cryptic look she sends him does nothing to ease him and he is about to ask what she meant exactly when Jongdae rises up next to him.

“Alright,” he says. “Time to go.”

The woman glances up at Jongdae then hesitates for a short second. She lifts a hand and looks up once more with inquiring eyes. Jongdae crouches behind Sehun and smiles at her.

“Go ahead,” he says. “Thank you for this,” he adds, gesturing at the package.

Confused, Sehun watches happiness wash over the woman’s face. She quickly crosses what little distance there was left between her and Orage and gently strokes the fur. Orage lets out a long drawn-out sigh that Jongdae echoes mindlessly with a little huff. Sehun draws his attention on him just as Jongdae grabs the package and slides it under the harness for travel purposes. He looks up and smiles at Sehun, his eyes of the softest blue.

“Thank you!” the woman says as she retreats back to the rest of the crowd. They welcome her with a low excited hum that only grows when she shows them the palm of her hands.

“Alright,” Jongdae repeats. He places a hand over Sehun’s shoulder and keeps the other on Orage. “Let’s go. Gentle and steady, girl.”

Orage lifts herself to stand on all four of her legs with a delicate sort of precision. She keeps her tail curled towards the sky to avoid knocking down a roof or two in a too excited tail wagging. She lets out a soft whine when she is finally up, one that comes out excited and maybe inquisitive. Jongdae, now standing right behind Sehun, pats her on the neck. Sehun has half a mind to turn around and grab his legs for extra support. Nothing, not even the horizon line, now so much more bare and laid out for him to see and enjoy, can help him relax. Orage in full movement is too different from a still, lying down Orage. He almost regrets the time she picked him up with her tail, because sitting at the base of her neck means he’ll get to feel each and every one of her muscles as she moves and there’s way too much power in those slight twitches for him to fathom. He grabs onto the harness, tries to even his breathing and to avoid looking down, because this is only her standing up and the worst is yet to come.

Orage cranes her neck on the side to try and glance at Sehun. He catches the incredible depth of her eyes, so large and wide the ocean reflects on them. She gives another low whine and Jongdae plops down behind Sehun. He stretches his legs on either side of him and pulls him against his chest to secure him and hold him there. Orage straightens her spine and opens her large wings.

Sehun hears the people of the Bay cheer and shoot goodbyes at them, he thinks he catches sight of Tien standing on a platform over the ocean, but everything mixes together in a hurl of fear and terror. It is only stubbornness that prevents him from passing out again when Orage flaps her wings once, twice, thrice and raises a swirling storm of sand all over the beach. He tries to fit logic into what he is living, hoping that conjuring horse riding lessons will help him make sense of the improbability of it all. All he has to do is move along with the muscles, follow the horse’s lead rather than oppose it – but Orage is no horse. That, she is not.

“Now,” Jongdae whispers in the crook of Sehun’s neck. His hold tightens all around him, as though trying to ease the tension from Sehun’s body.

Or maybe to prevent it, because Orage speeds her flapping and gives a push of her strong legs on the sand, and just like that, they’re flying.

“By the deities,” Sehun gasps without intending to.

He reaches out and holds on to Jongdae’s arms secured around his chest. It’s worse, so much worse than the tail. The roar of the wind, the inclination of Orage’s neck, the constant movement under him… He keeps thinking the next second will be the one when Orage’s muscles will topple him over and every time he is proven wrong, his tension raises up a notch. The next time she flaps her wings, surely, he’ll fall. Or maybe the time after that. Or after. After. He draws his fingers deep into the skin of Jondgae’s arms.

Orage lets out a whine that is quickly swept away by the wind and Jongdae nudges at the soft skin on his neck with the tip of his nose. It sends a very contradicting shiver down Sehun’s spine.

“Orage wants to tell you she is happy that you have agreed to fly with her,” Jongdae says. He sits up and cold air rushes in the space between them. Sehun immediately misses his warmth. “She knows you are scared but she will do her best to make you feel safe.”

“Safe,” Sehun scoffs. He glances at his fingers still clenching on Jongdae’s arms, white because of the force of his grip. “Tell her I appreciate that.”

Jongdae chuckles. “I don’t have to. She can hear you, you know.”

Orage turns her head towards them and the stretch of her neck muscles tips them slightly to the side. Sehun lets out a wordless gasp as his eyes are forced to take in the immensity of what lies far beneath them. Orage straightens and a low rumble goes through her chest, sends vibrations up to Sehun’s body. Jongdae chuckles but does not comment. He lets Sehun scratch his arms for reassurance.

Pretty soon, Sehun is forced to face the fact that he is not about to fall. The harness shifts every time Orage does, following her every movement and keeping Sehun tightly secured as it does so. He finds it quite logical to show at least a little bit of faith thanks to the package the people of the Bay have given them. Jongdae just slipped it underneath the very wide leather strips, and yet, it has not moved a bit. It does not mean Sehun is suddenly comfortable this high up in the sky, but at least he finds enough ease to let go of Jondgae’s arms. The latter wordlessly lets his grip slide down to Sehun’s waist in a looser embrace. Quite unpredictably, horse riding lessons do end up being useful. At first, Sehun mostly focuses on Jongdae’s body, so close to him, and the graceful, unminding way he can feel it move, and he tries to echo it. Bend left when Jongdae does, because Orage is adjusting her trajectory to the right, and lean over when she has to flap her wings quicker to overpower an opposite wind. It slowly becomes instinctive.

“Your heart has slowed down,” Jongdae notices then.

Sehun glances over his shoulder with a slight smile.

“It’s not so bad,” he confesses.

Jongdae chuckles and leans in closer to Sehun.

“We’re flying over Burgh now,” he says. “If you look on the right – no, there,” he adds, correcting the angle of Sehun’s head. “There, you see? The relief. That’s Frimas. I can see the mountain, the Glaciers and the Great Barrier, but I don’t think you can.”

Sehun squints as hard as he can at the distant horizon. The sky is low and winter is definitely more settled inland than it was in Hullmast, which makes his already very human eyesight quite useless against the clouds shrouding the horizon.

“I can’t,” he says, disappointed.

Jongdae smiles and gestures at another point facing them.

“And Marisk is there, but even I cannot see it so I doubt you will.”

Sehun still tries. Marisk is a swampy kingdom that does not look like much, but the best maps Sehun’s ever studied and the best books all came from their huge libraries. Their knowledge of medicinal herbs is colossal and they have history books Sehun has always dreamed of reading. Marisk also happens to be the kingdom serving as a frontier between the Alliance – Stanvaeld, Hullmast, Frimas, Burgh and Marisk – and the Empire of the Other World. The last war against the Empire lasted for two years and cost the Alliance many lives. Sehun lost his father to its violence. It also killed Jongdae’s predecessor. Sehun was four year old and Sejun, only one. He does not remember much of it.

“I can’t make sense of what’s happening,” he says. He doesn’t think Jongdae hears him but he shifts against Sehun to scoot closer and this proves Sehun wrong. He smiles slightly to the sky around him, and it feels endless. He chooses to focus on that instead. “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Jongdae hums his agreement.

The Resource War shook all of their kingdoms. It dragged, on and on, for years, and yet, it never once felt like it would stop. They all had reasons to try and invade the others – Frimas was struggling against the advance of the magical Glaciers, Marisk was trying to get more resources to prepare for the looming war against the Other World, Burgh was trying not to get crushed in the middle, Hullmast was standing against every attempt at stealing the control of the seas and rivers, and Stanvaeld was mostly protecting its quarries. Sehun’s grandfather died on the battlefield and his mother decided it had to stop. She redirected her troops towards Hullmast and it took her only a few days to take over the Bay. Both Marisk and Burgh had made the most of this lack of defence along the Stanvaeld borders, but the Queen didn’t try to stop them. Instead, she allied herself with Lady Jayanti, young and just as fierce back then, and walked upon the nomad capital of Burgh. Surrounded by two kingdoms, the King had to yield.

Then came the negotiations. With two kingdoms in the palm of her hand, the Queen of Stanvaeld had the victory within reach, but she did not want it. Instead, she called for a meeting, and leaders of every kingdom answered the call. It took a year, but the Alliance came to be at the end of all those treaties. She had taught them that there was strength in number, and they trusted it. When the first war against the Glaciers hit Frimas a couple years later, every kingdom rushed to help. The Great Barrier, now protecting Frimas’ south border from the hungry, icy beings was built with black stone, designed with Marisk ingenuity and reinforced with Frimas wood. Lady Jayanti’s people sailed up the rivers to carry the materials swiftly to the construction site and Burgh nomads brought food and clothes to the people building the barrier.

They stood together ever since. And they will for as long as Sehun breathes, he promises himself. He is immensely proud of it.

“Show me more,” he asks Jongdae.

Jongdae eventually gestures at something far under them, his other arm still loose around Sehun’s waist.

“We will soon pass Burgh’s most important temple on wheels. You see this cloud of dust down there? The temple is on the move.”

Sehun watches eagerly. He does see the dust but can barely make out the silhouette of the temple carried by a dozen horses. Burgh is a strange paradox between a nomadic, lone way of life and a societal organization. There are no cities in the kingdom, only large wagons carrying important buildings and settlements roaming the trading roads and large deserts. It is the largest kingdom of the alliance, but the smallest in number – although Sehun isn’t quite sure how the King could be sure about the number of his people. The soil is divine here, it is a gift that no one can claim without risking the anger of scale-covered deities who slither in the ground, so the people roam and only take what they need. Sehun wonders where the King’s wagon will be when it’ll be time for him to go meet him.

Jongdae shows him other landmarks and tells him every story that goes with them. Sehun listens, nods and comments, and his fear, slowly but surely, fades away. There’s beauty up here that could never be found on the ground. It feels tangible here – all of it. Stanvaeld, the Alliance… Everything is real and huge but also small, and he feels like he could hold it in the palm of his hands. And maybe he will, when there will be a crown on his head and place for him amongst the most important people of those kingdoms.

Flying really isn’t so bad.

Until it gets bad, _really_ bad.

Jongdae’s arms are back around his torso, his hands spread over his chest.

“Lower,” Jongdae says, and Orage obliges.

Sehun catches the worried look Jongdae sends his way but he’s cold, way too cold to care. They’ve been flying for what feels like hours, days even, although the dark grey painting over the horizon line tells Sehun the day is barely ending, and he’s just cold. So cold. Jongdae took out a thick blanket from Sehun’s small bag earlier and wrapped him with it, and it helped for a bit. Then it was too cold again. Sehun is thankful for Jongdae’s warmth against his back, all around him, and it takes him a bit too long to realise that Jongdae is _never_ warm. His skin is usually cold, but Sehun cannot feel his legs anymore, so maybe he is the one with the icy blood now. He tries to hide his shivers, to lock his jaws so that his teeth wouldn’t shatter anymore, but it proves terribly useless and all the more tiring for his body.

“I think I understand now why your skin is so cold,” he tells Jongdae, and the latter clicks his tongue in annoyance.

He unwraps himself from Sehun and the latter whimpers as the little bit of warmth that had pooled against his spine flakes away. Jongdae stands up and moves to sit in front of Sehun. He entangles their legs, fixes the blanket around Sehun’s body and cups his face with his hands. They’re hot against his cheeks.

“Your lips are blue,” Jongdae says. Orage whimpers and loses even more altitude. It doesn’t matter. It’s cold up in the sky, and it’s cold right under it. “You’re frozen.”

His fingers trail from Sehun’s cheekbones to his ears, and their touch is distant, numb. Sehun hunches up a shoulder to press Jongdae’s hand against the side of his head, desperate for his body heat.

“Sehun,” Jongdae starts, but Sehun shakes his head.

“No. We’re not stopping. I need to see Sejun.”

Jongdae lets out a groan. He scoots closer and leans on the side to grab the package the people of the Bay have given them.

“What are you doing?” Sehun says. His words come out twitchy and barely understandable.

“Trying to keep you alive,” he snaps.

He opens the package and rummages through what was put inside. It’s food mostly – seaweed folded over rice balls and seashells, but there are also a few cinnamon sticks and a glass bottle filled with sea salt, both sought-after delicacies of Hullmast. Jongdae groans and shoves the cinnamon sticks and the salt into Sehun’s bag. He takes out a dirty shirt and wraps the food in it before putting it back into the bag.

“I am never eating that,” Sehun protests.

“We’ll see that when you’re hungry.”

Jongdae unfolds the blanket that served for the bundle and wraps it around Sehun. He scoots closer to him and holds it around him. It is large enough that it covers Sehun’s whole upper body, and Jongdae even manages to pull it up over his head.

“Hold it there,” he says.

To his credit, Sehun does try. But his fingers are coated with cold, thick and numb, and he can’t feel the roughness of the blanket, let alone hold it.

“I can’t,” he confesses.

Jongdae shoots him a heavy glance, but he keeps his comment for himself. He reaches out and holds both sides of the blanket himself while he ruffles Orage’s fur between them.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to cover your legs,” Jongdae says. “Orage’s hair is thick. It could help.”

“Oh.” Sehun glances at Orage’s head. He cannot see her face but he thinks she looks nervous, unpleased. The growing darkness around them is gnawing at her dark fur. Soon, she’ll disappear into the night and will only leave gold feathers and ocean blue eyes to be seen. “Thank you, Orage.”

“She’s mad at you too,” Jongdae grumbles. “She thinks you’re stupid.”

Sehun snorts. Or, he tries to. His face refuses to move, apparently.

“Orage likes me. You’re the one who thinks I am stupid.”

Jongdae looks at him, heavy and deep, and Sehun is too cold to wonder or even try to pry the meaning of it loose.

“How are you not cold?” he whines instead.

“I was made for flying,” Jongdae says. He pats Orage’s fur over Sehun’s thighs – who feels a pang of regret at the numbness that stops him from feeling it – and wraps his arms around Sehun. He holds him close and tucks his head under his chin. He starts rubbing all over his back. “This is where I belong. I was flying before I even knew how to talk.”

Jongdae buries his face in Sehun’s hair, and Sehun tries to imagine it. A tiny Jongdae braving the elements and the heights, riding a smaller Orage. Or maybe she was already big? He finds the picture amusing and sort of scary too. He can’t imagine any parents anywhere being comfortable with their toddler riding a giant beast. Are small Beast Riders allowed to use a saddle or is it all just instincts and hoping for the best?

He means to ask, but something else slips past the barrier of his lips. “I’m so cold.”

“I know,” Jongdae says, voice heavy. He kisses Sehun’s head, his breath warm and Sehun basks in it for as long as it lasts.

“But we can’t stop,” he adds.

To that Jongdae doesn’t say anything. He keeps Sehun very close, keeps rubbing his back and breathing in his hair. Sehun would be so very warm if they were on the ground, he’d be made of lava and something hungrier, something deeper, if they were in the privacy of his rooms, like they’ve been on the road to Hullmast, in Hullmast, every day ever since his mother died. He is too cold now to feel anything else than numbness and throbbing pain, but he knows it would be blooming in his chest if it could and it comforts him. 

He leans into Jongdae’s embrace and buries his face in the crook of his neck. His eyelashes flutter against Jongdae’s Adam apple and he closes his eyes.

“Better?” Jongdae asks.

“Yes.”

Sehun tries to ease his breathing and echo Jongdae’s to stop his teeth from chattering and his body from shivering because his muscles are starting to hurt. He lets out a drawn-out sigh and huddles closer. It may not be warmer but it feels safer and that’ll have to do.

When he opens his eyes again, it’s pitch black around him and wind is roaring in his ears. His tongue feels swollen in his mouth and the skin on his face solid enough that it could tear apart if he were to smile too wide. Not that he feels like smiling, because his brain hasn’t slowed down enough for him to misread how his body is leaning against Jongdae, forced into that position by gravity.

“We’re landing,” he says, and it comes out in a slur he barely understands when he meant it as an accusation. He knows it’s important that he appears angry and reproachful but he is not quite sure why anymore.

“We are,” Jongdae says. Orage must be descending quite abruptly because Jongdae’s legs are contracted with the effort of holding himself upright. “I couldn’t wake you up,” he adds.

Sehun barely hears it, and it seems so silly to him. “I am awake,” he says.

Jongdae hums. He swipes his thumb across Sehun’s cheek, and it hurts.

“We can’t stop,” Sehun says. “Sejun. We have to get to Sejun.”

“We will.”

Sejun. Sehun’s numb mind twists and turns, the name warm enough to crack the ice that has locked his thoughts into stillness. His little brother, alone in Stanvaeld. Sehun had forgotten. He had taken him _hours_ to consider the idea that he might have been attacked too. Yes, Sejun’s name is warm in his mind, but if it burns, it burns with shame and guilt. Sehun refuses to let it go, not again.

“Sejun,” he repeats. “No, Orage, fly away, we have to get to Sejun.”

“Shht,” Jongdae says. His eyes are so blue even in the dark. “Hold on, we’re gonna hit the ground.”

Sehun hears more than he sees Orage’s wings open wide and large on either side of her body. The roaring of the wind slows down to a diffuse whimper and Jongdae’s posture gets more natural. Then Orage’s feet hit the ground and the shock goes through her body, brutal but short. Sehun hits his forehead against Jongdae’s collarbone – or maybe eyebrow arch? He does not feel it.

“Hold on,” Jongdae repeats. He untangles their legs and pulls out Sehun’s from under the harness. “Down, down,” he says, and Sehun’s heart jumps up in his throat while Orage abruptly lowers herself on the ground. “Help him get down.”

Jongdae’s hands leave his body and without his solidity or the harness to hold him in place, Sehun immediately topples over. Something distant tries to stir him, to force him to pull his hands from under the blanket and ease his fall, but it’s too slow to reach his mind. So he falls, rolls on Orage’s fur and expects to feel the crash any second. The only thing that comes is softness. It moves under him, slowly takes him to the ground and it’s only when Sehun catches Orage’s big eyes staring at him in the dark that he realises he is on her wing. He means to express his wonder, to apologise for the trouble maybe – she may be a very big fox, he had plenty of time to admire her wings and their delicacy up in the air, but once again, words slip past his control and he lets out another shiver instead.

“I’m cold.”

“Don’t fall asleep,” Jongdae warns him from somewhere on the side.

Sehun tilts his head to try and catch sight of him while Orage slightly folds her wing so that he is wrapped in more of her beautiful feathers. It’s so dark Sehun can barely see anything, but Jongdae is swifter than any silhouette and shadow carried by the night, and his eyes easily pierce the darkness. He looks like a terrible monster, thin and long with eyes that lure you like flames would mosquitoes only to reveal sharp fangs at the last moment. Sehun is half delirious – he knows it with confusing clarity – which leads to sped-up hallucinations, and Jongdae flickers in each one of them with black on his fingers, scales covering his arms and wings growing on his back, tearing his skin apart. Yet, Sehun finds he cannot look away.

A sudden flash of bright light forces the night away all around them, and thunder cracks so loud Sehun feels its vibrations in his bones. A smell of burning rises, and distant warmth spreads over them. He struggles to make sense of the flickering light on the ground until Jongdae walks up to him and Sehun can clearly see, he is still Jongdae, his Jongdae.

“You’ve built a fire,” he says in a slur. He still can’t feel his lips, which makes talking complicated, but there’s a prickle spreading all over his face, and he thinks he might be a little less cold. “I have never seen anyone start a fire so fast,” he adds.

Jongdae snorts. Sehun struggles to see the humour in his comment, but he lets it go. He is starting to shiver again, and his muscles, numb and sore, make him pay for every little tremble. Orage lowers her wing, tilts it down and Sehun rolls in the feathers and to the ground. He is stopped by Jongdae’s hands who forces him up and helps him walk to the bonfire.

“There is no wood,” Sehun notices with great gravity. It feels to him that a fire burning with absolutely no wood will not work, and he expects the same seriousness from Jongdae, but the latter completely ignores him.

“Get closer,” he says to Orage instead. “We need to keep as much warmth as we can.”

Orage obliges. She shifts on the ground, dust and loose gravel squeaking under her weight. She curls around the fire, long enough that she cages the light and warmth with most of her body. Her long wings are folded back against her body and she completes the circle with her long fluffy tail. Its tip comes grazing at her stretched forelegs. He rests her face on them, her eyes turned towards Sehun. He can see himself on their glassy surface.

“There’s no wood burning,” he tells her, because he thinks he reads care in her eyes, and she might actually do something about it, unlike Jongdae. Her ears slightly perk up at the sound of his voice, and she lifts her head towards him and lets out a soft, low whine. “A fire needs wood to be warm,” Sehun agrees.

“Shut up,” Jongdae groans next to him.

He pushes on Sehun’s shoulders to sit him down, which Sehun does in jerky little jolts of his body. The shivers have grown to full spasms now and when he tries to tell Jongdae to _please, take care of the wood_ , he bites his tongue and blood fills his mouth. Jongdae sits next to him and glances at him with furrowed brows.

“Don’t talk yet,” he says. He peels the blankets off Sehun. “But do not fall asleep.” He must see something in Sehun’s eyes but gentleness, and something else, wash over his face and he gives a little sigh. “Do not worry about the fire, Sehun. It is magic, and it will burn for as long as I wish it too.”

He proceeds to take Sehun’s left hand in his to bring it closer to the fire. Not so close that the warmth will burn even more painful than the cold already has, but close enough that it will fight the numbness on Sehun’s fingertips, inch by inch. Jongdae rolls them between his palms, rubs every finger with his own, from the tip to the bottom and up again. He presses against his palms, kneads the skin on the back of Sehun’s hands one after the other, and it slowly starts the blood flow again.

“Magic,” Sehun repeats. Of course. He closes his eyes and sways a little bit. Orage is just behind him – he can feel the strange mix of fur and feathers against his back and it seems so inviting suddenly. He longs to let himself go and curl against it.

“Stay,” Jongdae warns him. He pulls on Sehun’s hand to straighten him and goes to work on his calf. “Talk to me.”

“Uh.” Sehun blinks at the fire dancing in front of him. He isn’t sure if he is less or more cold, because the shivers are quite bad and he wants to slip back into full numbness, but he can feel his tongue inside his mouth again and his thoughts come easier to him - also they almost make sense. “Talk about what?”

“Whatever you want,” Jongdae says. He pulls off one of Sehun’s boots and the warmth bites his foot.

Sehun glances at him. He isn’t completely sure he has not dreamed the rumble of thunder, but would it really be surprising? If Jongdae really held thunder and lightning in the hollow of his hands and unleashed it onto this piece of land, melting the rocks underneath, forcing the cold away – would it really surprise him? He made corals glow, he talks to the stars, he healed Lady Jayanti, and when he decided he had to keep Sehun busy so he wouldn’t spiral down, he built a sword out of light and power and held it like it was nothing. There are islands up to the north where they worship him and the rest of his people, and Sehun… Sehun can definitely see why.

His eyes linger on the constellations adorning Jongdae’s cheekbones and temples. They seem fainter than they usually are, but they’re still delicate, still moving around with every twitch of Jongdae’s face.

“Sehun,” Jongdae groans. “Talk.”

Sehun shivers at the mention of his name, and it brings back the faintest memory. He tries to reach out and catch it, but it slips past his fingers like smoke. He blinks his confusion and shoves the thought aside upon noticing Jongdae is now looking at him with dark, heavy eyes.

“Stars,” Sehun blurs, and Jongdae’s frown deepens. “Back in the Bay, You said my mother was in the stars.”

Jongdae looks into his face for a few seconds, as though gauging Sehun, but then he looks back at his hands rubbing Sehun’s ankle and the wariness is gone.

“You have deities,” he says eventually. “My people do not share that belief. We… We believe the people we lose become stars.”

His voice is low, hesitant. His people live in secret, hidden away from the Alliance and every other kingdom, and the tiny pieces of knowledge Sehun has about them, he found in archaic books. Most of them are common knowledge, and the rest feel like suppositions rather than confirmations. He has no idea if his mother knew more, if Jongdae ever shared anything with her, but he knows the Beast Riders that came before him all kept their mouth shut. These words feel more precious than every gemstone in Stanvaeld.

But Sehun is of Stanvaeld blood and he has always had a very deep hunger for treasures, of any kind.

“Sometimes you speak of her as though she was still alive,” he presses on.

Jongdae’s touch flicker for a short second. He glances at Sehun then gives a sharp, little nod.

“We believe the stars are guardians. They share their light, their knowledge and their power with us. It is another existence, one we cannot fully comprehend, but it is still existing. Somewhere far above us, but still.” He sighs then slips Sehun’s foot back inside his now warmed-up boot. “I believe your mother is amongst them right now, and I believe she watches over her sons as she always did in her previous existence. I believe she watches over me as well, and the loyalty and love I had for her before, I still owe them to her right now.”

“When you talk to the stars with Orage… you can hear them?” Sehun asks with eagerness. “You… Have you ever heard my mother?”

Jongdae watches him in silence for a few moments. He scoots closer and checks the temperature of Sehun’s skin on his face with the back of his hand. Apparently satisfied, he takes back one of the blankets and puts it over Sehun’s shoulders.

“I haven’t,” he eventually says in a whisper. “It does not work like that. Just like her existence has changed, her voice is different as well, and I am too bound to this earth to understand it. If she has spoken to me, I have not recognized her.”

“Have _you_ spoken to her?”

“Of course,” Jongdae says. He turns towards the fire and it gets a bit brighter, its flames a bit higher. “I have told her about you mostly, and how you have changed since she left. You were already a very good Prince. I believe you will make a great King.”

Sehun snorts. He holds the blanket tight around him and scoots closer to Jongdae to rest his head on his shoulder. His shivering is mostly gone now, and he can feel his extremities again. 

“I miss her,” he confesses in a low voice.

“I miss her too,” Jongdae says. He wraps an arm around Sehun’s shoulder and pauses. His silence is hesitant and heavy. Sehun glances up at him and Jongdae makes a face before caving in, his shoulders hunching down, to whatever internal dilemma he was struggling with. He pulls out his arm and Sehun sits up, intrigued. “Orage came from the stars, you know,” Jongdae eventually says.

The mention of her name has Orage perking up again. She turns her head towards them and something flickers in her eyes. Sehun follows her gaze to Jongdae who smiles slightly. There’s a hint of blue in his eyes, and splinters of black in hers – understanding passes quietly between the two of them. Somehow appeased, Orage rests her head on her paws again, this time keeping it turned towards them.

“The stars?” Sehun repeats, and he expects another legend, another story. Jongdae’s people seem to be full of them, but all he gets instead is a rather serious look from Jongdae.

“She once lived here, like you and me. Then she died and she went to be amongst the stars.” He pauses and reaches out to bury his hand in Orage’s fur. Her eyelids close for a few seconds, pleasure stretching out the features on her face. “They come to us when we are born. When a family welcomes a newborn in a household, they thank the stars for the gift and a creature comes a few days later. Orage was very small when she showed herself to my parents, and they were afraid she was sick, but she came to my cradle, hopped in it and laid next to me.”

There’s fondness in his voice and a distant look on his face. Sehun glances at Orage, whose attention is now solely on Jongdae. There’s a twinkle in her eyes and a curl to her mouth that tells him that, had her face been a human one, she would be smiling wide and bright right now.

“They just… appear on your doorstep?” Sehun asks.

Jongdae smiles. He’s always been expressive, even when he tries to be dismissive or neutral, but it may be the first time Sehun sees him this open. He keeps his breathing quiet and tries not to move too much, lest it jolt Jongdae out of this new state of mind. The secrets are amazing to hear, and Sehun’s hunger and curiosity have both arisen to their maximum peak, but the look on Jongdae’s face may be even more precious, and that’s a treasure Sehun wishes to stare at for the longest of time.

“They come to us,” Jongdae repeats with a shrug. He smiles again and pulls his hand away from Orage. “It’s a circle, you see. You live and die, but it never ends there. Orage may have lived her first existence centuries ago, or maybe it was only a dozen of years before I was born. She does not remember neither having two legs nor shining among the stars and I do not mind anyway. What matters is that she came to me and I have her now.”

Sehun slowly shakes his head. “It’s incredible,” he says.

Something flickers in Jongdae’s eyes and his softness switches back to sharpness. When he takes in Sehun, it is careful and gauging again.

“I will not tell,” Sehun quickly says.

Jongdae snorts, but the wildness on his face is gone. He reaches out to the fire and hovers his hand over it. The flames get a little bit larger, a little bit bigger, and when Jongdae pulls away, the skin on his hand is still soft and smooth.

“Never trust a man of Stanvaeld with a treasure,” he says. “Ain’t that the saying?”

Sehun shakes his head with vehemence. Jongdae scoffs again before grabbing the second blanket and wrapping it around Sehun. The fire is warm enough that Sehun has forgotten all about the icy cold, but he still gracefully accepts the added layer. The weight of it is comforting. It also means Jongdae gets closer to him when he wraps it around him.

“I will not tell,” Sehun repeats. His eyes land on the constellations on Jongdae’s cheekbones and before he can stop himself, he is asking, “What do they mean?”

Orage lets out a high-pitched sound which startles Sehun. He turns around and yelps as Orage topples him over with a push of her nuzzle. Her whiskers are as long as Sehun is tall.

“She says you’re too curious,” Jongdae comments from the side. Sehun looks at him, Orage’s head still hovering over him. “Which is exactly what I meant, for the record.”

“Is she angry with me?”

Jongdae stops caring for the fire to meet his eyes, and there’s exasperation in his voice when he answers. “She is not.”

Orage bumps her nose against him again, and he can tell she’s being precautious, but all her softness cannot fully make out for her height and power. It is a slight touch, but it’s enough to send Sehun rolling on the side. A few rocks stab him in the back despite the blankets and the sky merges with the ground for a very short second. Sehun chuckles, sits up and laughs again. Orage is looking at him with her weird face, fox and human mixed up into one magical creature, and she grumbles her own version of a chuckle.

“You should sleep for a few hours,” Jongdae says. “We’ll leave again with dawn. It’s no use flying in the dark. It’s cold up there and I don’t want to have to stop every hour to warm you up.”

Everything nice and bubbly bleeds out of Sehun. He whirls around to Jongdae.

“We can’t. Sejun.”

“Is most surely fine,” Jongdae finishes. He looks into Sehun’s face, then adds, “We would have heard already. After your mother… It took only a couple of hours for the bells to ring all over the five kingdoms.”

Sehun hesitates. His body feels heavy and sore, and the journey to Hullmast and the little sleep he did get once they arrived are starting to weigh down on him. He can see the logic behind Jongdae’s reasoning, and how it will branch out once they arrive to Stanvaeld. Flying there was already quite the choice, and Sehun needs to be able to defend it, to act as level-headedly as he is always expected to. Sleep will help, on every aspect.

On the other hand, he is running a race against his guilt and shame, and he is already losing.

“We’ll leave before dawn,” he says eventually. “I’ll be fine, just… please?”

Jongdae scrunches his nose, but he takes a few seconds to consider. He nods.

“Alright. A couple of hours of rest, then. I need it too anyway.”

And Sehun sees it for a second. The hollowness of his cheeks, the shadows creeping under his eyes… has Jongdae even slept at all in Hullmast? Sehun starts to remove one of the blankets, eager to share, but Jongdae stops him with a glare.

“Keep it. And sleep against Orage, she’ll keep you warm. I don’t need it.”

“You may,” Sehun opposes, gently. He hesitates for a second. “You should also sleep against Orage. She will watch over us, won’t she?” He looks at Orage who acknowledges his demand with a tilt of her head. Sehun can’t help but smile at her understanding. “See? Now please, take that blanket.”

Jongdae’s eyes go from Sehun to Orage, and back to Sehun. He gives out a long sigh then grudgingly accepts the blanket Sehun is holding out to him. He stays still while Sehun walks on all fours to Orage who meets him halfway by huddling closer. She lifts her head and watches him as he sits up against her side. Their eyes meet and Orage lets out a snort that almost flickers the fire out. She gently bumps against Sehun’s back with her belly to force him into a more comfortable position and slightly unfolds her wing so that it would offer him a roof, would he need one. Sehun chuckles lightly. He pulls his blanket up to his forehead and lets his body sink into the thickness of Orage’s fur. He tries to be mindful of the feathers poking out from her coat, but her eyes are heavy on him, and he definitely recognizes some of Jongdae’s exasperation in it.

“Thanks,” he tells her once he has finally settled. It is not his bed back in Stanvaeld, but all things considered… it really is not so bad.

She gives a little hum and glances at Jongdae before lowering her head again. Sehun follows her gaze. Jongdae has gone from sitting to kneeling by the fire. His hands are cupped overthe sand, as though he was holding the heart of the flames in his palms. Maybe he is, because once again when he pulls away, the fire has been rekindled and Jongdae sports no burns, no redness on his skin. Looking pleased with himself, he grabs his blanket, wraps himself in it and turns back to Sehun. He smiles at him and joins him in the comfort of Orage’s fur.

“Tell me if you are cold this time,” he says eventually, when all his shifting is done and he has settled into a position he seems content with.

Sehun smiles, too. “I will.”

They look into the other’s face for a few minutes in complete silence. Orange’s breathing has slowed down – Sehun can feel the swelling and emptying of her great lungs against his back, and her heart is a drum beat. It is oddly lulling and soon enough, Sehun’s eyelids get heavier and thicker.

“The tattoos appeared on my face after I first talked to the stars with Orage,” Jongdae says in a low, low voice. “They are the first stars who answered. They link us to our magic.”

Sehun smiles, his eyes closed. He sees the constellations on the back of his eyelids, can even admire how they stretch over the sharp angle of Jongdae’s cheekbones. He’s watched them so many times he also knows which stars appear bigger, which would surely shine brighter if they were up in the sky and not on Jongdae’s skin. He finds it quite easy to forget them when he looks at Jongdae, and not only because he holds himself so differently, not because of his hair or the sharpness of his face. It’s because, most of the time, Jongdae really does outshine them.

“You’re beautiful,” Sehun mumbles and it stretches out in his mind, his words like heavy swamp waters, save that they’re clear and blue rather than dark and muddy. He does get stuck in them though, and they drag him under. But it’s not scary, no. It’s comforting. Sehun feels how free they are, and it’s freeing him too.

Oh, he loves it. He loves it so much. 

  
When Sehun opens his eyes again, it is still dark all around him. He can’t have slept more than two hours, and yet, he feels more rested than he has for days now. He pulls the blanket up to his chin and the sleeve of his jacket catches on the red diamonds sewn to the fabric. He winces a bit and blindly checks them with the tip of his fingers to make sure none of them fell. There will be no one to attach another one when the sun will rise, and it’ll make for another break in traditions Sehun will have to apologise for. He does not look forward to it. He also can’t pretend he doesn’t like the lightness of his jacket right now. It’ll grow heavier when the apprentice will lay her hands on him – it’ll keep growing heavier and heavier every day.

Orage’s breathing is low and measured, and Sehun does not want to wake her, not yet. He is still nestled against her, so when he moves to take a look at Jongdae, he does it carefully. He mostly rolls on his side, wincing a bit when cold air rushes under the blanket to gnaw at the skin of his back. It takes him a bit of blinking to make out Jongdae’s silhouette in the darkness – the fire is still burning, but it has reduced to a low flicker, and it draws deeper shadows around them than it lights up their circle. Sehun can see Jongdae though. He has to get used to the darkness, but he sees him. Half of his face disappears into Orage’s coat, and his whole body fits under the blanket, unlike Sehun’s. He looks small and sad, and it breaks Sehun’s heart.

He takes a deep breath and reaches out tentatively. Jongdae is much closer than he remembers him to be, which is very lucky because Sehun barely has to stretch to get to him. He hesitates for a few seconds then brushes Jongdae’s cheekbone with his fingertips. It sends jolts of sparkling warmth up his arm and straight to his heart. His breathing lightly speeds up.

It’s so dark Sehun feels like he could straighten and reach even more, touch even more without having to mind the consequences. Jongdae’s skin is so smooth, so cold, and Sehun will never have enough of it. Oh, he knows. He knows he should never have any of it, but it’s dark and they’re alone, and the harsh stones of Stanvaeld are far away. This feels like a much better gemstone to carry next to his heart.

So he reaches out again. His hand is mere inches away from Jongdae’s face when the latter sits up with a loud gasp, the remnant of whatever dream that woke him icy cold in his eyes. Sehun immediately straightens too, and his hand, already so close, speeds up until he can grab Jongdae by the shoulders.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s alright, it’s alright.”

Jongdae presses the palm of his hand against his heart to try and ease his erratic breathing. He glances at Sehun. His eyes are overcome with something Sehun cannot quite understand, but it’s heavying on the shadows on his face. Sehun entangles himself from his blanket and quickly joins Jongdae.

“Jongdae,” he says and the rest of his words die down in the back of his throat. His hands are frozen on Jongdae’s shoulders.

“I’m fine,” Jongdae eventually says. He presses his hands against his face for a few seconds then pushes back the hair on his forehead. His eyes turn to Sehun. He puts a hand over Sehun’s on his shoulder. “I’m fine,” he repeats. “Just a very odd dream.”

Sehun hums. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

Jongdae considers him for a very short second. Sehun almost expects the taunting tone he is so used to. Maybe a _What, haven’t I told you enough already?_ with a wink, but he is quickly proven wrong when confusion washes over Jongdae’s face. He shrugs, the movement squeezing his and Sehun’s hand together.

“I don’t know. I keep dreaming about the man with the yellow coat.”

It takes a couple of seconds for Sehun to understand.

“The man from the night market? The one who sold the herbs to the apothecary?”

Jongdae throws him an apologetic look as he nods. “I know we have decided to focus on Dahlia. And we’ll have to investigate everyone who came to Hullmast with us. Although I doubt the poisoner wrote his name in Tien’s travel journal. But I can’t quite… shake the feeling that we should focus on that man.”

“It’s a dead end,” Sehun says, gently. Jongdae looks even wilder than he usually does, with his hair all ruffled from sleep and his sudden awakening still stretching out the traits of his face, but it’s not a good kind of wildness. He looks shaken to his core.

“I know,” Jongdae says with a groan. “I know, it’s just… Somehow, I always dream about him.”

“Always?”

Jongdae gives a sharp nod, his eyes elusive. Sehun lets out a little sigh as he goes from his crouched down position to a sitting one. He keeps his hand under Jongdae’s but runs his free fingers through his hair, which brings Jongdae’s focus on him.

“Do you think it could mean something?” Sehun eventually asks. “Have you ever had dreams that were… more than dreams?”

Once again, tcuriosity swallows Sehun. He feels like he’ll never know enough about Jongdae. He wants every detail, every possibility, every piece of his existence with a sort of hunger he had never felt before. He’ll never run out of questions.

“Sometimes,” Jongdae admits. “I can’t make sense of this one, though. Like you said, it’s a dead end. Yet, I feel compelled to keep looking for him.”

“Maybe we should, then.”

Jongdae looks at him with the hint of a smile on his lips. Sehun echoes it instinctively.

“You are too trusting, Great Prince. Always prompt to believe everything and anything.” He rises to his knees and starts to fold his blanket. Sehun pulls his hands away.

“Is that a bad thing?”

Jongdae chuckles. He shakes his head and grabs Sehun’s arm to pull him up. Next to them, Orage begins to stir, and Jongdae’s eyes fill up with watered down blue. He glances at her, smiles then draws back his attention on Sehun.

“Not for you, no. You should never change.”

Sehun snorts, but it comes out clumsy and it lacks the sharpness he usually uses to reply to Jongdae’s snarky comments. He isn’t sure it was teasing, and his heart has decided to take it as more serious anyway, which means it has bloomed in his chest and bled warmth all throughout his veins. Jongdae looks at him like he knows, and when he reaches to give Sehun his blanket, his fingers linger.

“We should get going,” Jongdae says. He pats Orage’s side and she whines. “Get up, girl. We need your wings.” She groans, shoves him aside then starts stretching. Jongdae giggles then looks back at Sehun. “Wrap yourself up in the blankets. It’s still cold up there and I can’t make no fire to help you when we’re flying.”

Sehun nods, but it is obviously not enough for Jongdae. While Orage completes her stretches from her pointy ears to the tip of her thick tail, Jongdae helps him dress up. He covers his hands and neck and wraps the blankets very tightly around him. Orage, who appears to have woken up in a terrible mood, groans at them until they finally turn to her and start to climb on her back. She grudgingly helps Sehun by lying flat on the ground and rebuffs Jongdae’s words when she stands up a little bit too quickly. None of them miss the way she ruffles her hair and feathers with a shake of her head so that it covers Sehun’s legs completely though.

Sehun and Jongdae exchange a glance as Jongdae sits facing Sehun, between him and Orage’s head. Sehun is warm against his chest, and Jongdae’s eyes are a dark shade of blue. 

“Alright,” Jongdae say, amused. “Let’s go.”

Orage spreads her wings.

It is snowing by the time they get to Stanvaeld Castle. Patches of dark soil are still showing here and there, but winter has definitely landed in the kingdom. The sun has never really risen – explosions of colours and brightness never really happened, but the fogginess did get lighter, whiter. The cold is biting, merciless. Stanvaeld Castle is to the north, its back facing the mountain range serving as a natural border for the kingdom. Ahead of them is uncharted territory, places of magic and danger few humans ever dared to travel to. Jongdae’s people live there, amongst the many peaks of the mountains, where winter never truly leaves. As they descend towards the inner ward, Sehun watches the summits disappear behind more snow-filled clouds.

Jongdae’s arms tighten around him when Orage adopts an even sharper angle. Landing in the outer ward would have made more sense for her size, but it also meant going through the curtain wall and losing time with the soldiers guarding the gateway – and with the rest of the soldiers and servants they will call for. It is no time for diplomacy, at least not until Sehun has seen his little brother with his own two eyes.

“Brace yourself,” Jongdae whispers into his ear, and his warm breath tickles the skin over Sehun’s jawline.

For his credit, he really tries to. Once again, he thinks about horses and decides jumping obstacles is probably what’s closest to actual landing, so he mimics the position he would have taken on his horse. Unfortunately, he is not facing Orage’s head and he can’t really support himself and stand up from his sitting position, which makes it considerably harder. Jongdae probably feels him shift against him and this draws his attention on Sehun.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and he is almost impossible to hear in the roar of the wind around them.

Sehun shrugs because, really, he has no idea. He does not hear Jongdae’s chuckles, but he sees the amusement in his eyes and the way they crinkle up, swallowing the constellations on his cheekbones. 

“Just hold on to me,” Jongdae adds, this time leaning towards Sehun so he can talk directly in his ear.

Sehun is too eager, he knows it. Jongdae has this awful habit of seeing and understanding things most people overlook, so he probably feels it too, the way Sehun sort of rushes to him. They were already so close to one another, but he hungrily presses his body against Jongdae’s, wraps his arms around him and forgets all about the cold still clinging to his fingers as he grabs Jongdae’s robe on his back and holds on to it tightly. Jongdae answers to his eagerness in his own, soft way. He keeps a steady hand on Orage to hold himself, but he puts the other behind Sehun’s neck. His ankles lock behind Sehun’s and he contracts his legs to reinforce his grip on Orage.

Orage goes from an abrupt nosedive to an upright position in mere seconds, and it’s quickly followed by the sound of her feet hitting the ground. Her wings whip up clouds of snow around them. Sehun straightens up, a jolt of apprehension and fear running through him. Jongdae quickly starts untangling his legs from the harness.

“Go,” he says to Sehun.

He wraps his fingers just under Sehun’s elbow and lifts him up on Orage’s back. Sehun barely has time to react before Orage, driven by sudden emergency, whips her head towards them. Jongdae shoves him and Sehun topples over.

He lands on the top of Orage’s head, right between her ears.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” he says, surprised.

Orage pays him no attention. She straightens her head and tilts it towards the ground, offering Sehun a way down. When he hesitates for a second too long, she slightly shakes her head to force him down. Sehun groans but follows the gentle slope of her snout to the ground. She has snow in her fur, and the tips of her whiskers are frozen, but she is warm to the touch. All Sehun wants to do is rush to the keep, but he still takes the time to turn back to her. He presses the palm of his hand on the tip of her nose. His spread fingers don’t even cover the whole surface of it.

“Thank you,” he says, and she answers with a slight whine and a bump of her muzzle to push him away. Ice falls from her neck.

Sehun smiles. He does not need to be asked twice. He whirls around and rushes to the keep. The doors are wide open and both servants and soldiers are already gathering on the snow-covered lawn. Soon enough, nobles and curious visitors will get here, and –

_Oh_.

“Sejun!”

Sehun launches himself forward, straight into the arms of his very surprised little brother, who just appeared at the door. This is warmth like he has not felt in days. He holds his brother tight against him. He smells of wood fire and ink, of oils and that peculiar smell of dust that lurks around in the castle’s corridor. He smells of home and safety. He smells alive.

“By the deities,” Sehun gasps. He grabs Sejun by the shoulders, pulls away to take a better look at him. Sejun is watching with wide eyes, his cheeks pink because of the cold rushing through the open doors. “You’re fine. You are fine.”

Sehun closes his eyes while another sigh of relief slips past his lips. He tucks his little brother’s head under his chin and holds him there, content.

“I am?” Sejun says, voice muffled, like he isn’t sure it is what he should be saying. “Sehun, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be with Lady Jayanti?” A pause. “Did you _ride_ the beast? Where is everyone?”

The chatter gets louder and louder around them, and Sehun can hear clothes shuffling and words being exchanged all around them, which means it is probably time for him to start acting like the Great Prince again. He pulls away, fixes Sejun’s jacket – ah, _thirteen_ diamonds – then takes the blanket off his shoulders.

“Something happened,” he tells his brother, too aware of everyone around them. Thankfully, Orage chooses that precise moment to fly away again, and it draws everyone’s focus on her. More snow blows past them. “We need to talk,” Sehun says in a hurried whisper. “Now.”

Sejun watches him with confusion, and it takes him a few seconds to finally nod his assent. Sehun wordlessly thanks him with a slight bow of his head.

He only notices the silence growing around them when Sejun squints his eyes at something right behind him, and it takes a few moments for Sehun to make sense of what is happening. He looks over his shoulders and finds Jongdae standing right behind him, looking so perfectly like himself no one could ever guess he has just braved the snow to get here – or that he is running on barely two hours of sleep for that matter. He stands tall, snow peppered over his hair and his hands curled inside his sleeves, but he unfolds his arms upon meeting Sejun’s eyes and lowers for a very intricate bow.

“Little Prince,” he greets, music in his voice.

Sehun snorts, but when he looks back to his brother, he is surprised by the absence of humour in his eyes. Jongdae’s greeting was so obviously teasing, Sehun half-expected everyone else to have a laugh about it, but, just like Sejun, they’re only growing quieter and stiller.

“In my study,” Sejun says. “Follow me.”

He gives a sharp look at Jongdae when the latter makes to trail after them, but Jongdae pretends he does not see. Sehun looks at him over his shoulder again and Jongdae greets him with a little smile. He remembers his mother laughing at something Jongdae would whisper in his ear during a meal, or a Council meeting, laughing at his antics, just laughing and enjoying his presence, and then he thinks about Lady Jayanti’s tone when she and Jongdae teased one another; and he tries not to, but Sehun compares it to the coldness following Jongdae around right now. The way people part before him as though breathing the same air as he does was bad luck unnerves Sehun in a way it never did before.

“Come here,” he mumbles after it has started to weigh down painfully on his heart. He reaches out and grabs Jongdae’s hand to pull him up next to him. Jongdae looks at him with wide eyes. “There. Better.”

Something flickers on Jongdae’s face, but it’s too quick for Sehun to grasp it. He feels Jongdae’s fingers squeeze around his before he lets go and his shoulder sometimes bumps into his. It does not stop the looks and the whispers, nothing would, but at least now Jongdae isn’t their sole target. Sehun meets a few eyes and challenges them silently, and silence really is what they go back into. He’ll take this as a win.

It only takes them a few minutes to reach Sejun’s study. The room is smaller than Sehun’s, but it is clean and perfectly tidied up, which gives it an impression of endless space. A large fire is burning in the hearth and the only window has been sealed off with a large piece of wood for the winter. It makes the room darker than it should be, and the trembling shadows casted over the walls by the flicker of the flames make them seem alive. Sehun thinks about snakes and poisons and everything he has to tell Sejun, and cold sharper than ice engulfs him.

Sejun stops by his work table. He turns back towards them and, once again, his eyes flicker to Jongdae when the latter shuts the door.

“What is going on, Sehun?” he says, and something darks fill his eyes, something that Sehun recognises as pain and betrayal. “What happened?”

Sehun wets his lips, searching for his words.

“I know we promised to be there for each other,” he starts, then stops when he realises the royal mail isn’t in Sejun’s study. “Where are the letters?”

Sejun frowns, confused for a little while. His eyes widen in understanding.

“Oh! I have left them in your study, of course. I do take care of it, but I’d rather everyone think it is your doing. Royal mail is the Great Prince’s duty and I do not want to embarrass you publically.”

Sehun feels the blush on his face – but his fluster comes from a deluge of emotions he struggles to understand. Stuck between the relief of knowing his brother is fine and the wave of affection upon realising he has also made sure to help Sehun in the best way possible is bottomless guilt. _We will stand together_ , he had told Sehun, and this was not an empty promise.

It is now Sehun’s turn to deliver.

“There is something I kept from you,” he starts, hesitant.

But Sejun gasps and gestures at his chest. “Wait, Sehun! You’re missing a diamond! We should… we should, wait, let me call for the seamster’s apprentice.”

Sehun winces and shakes his head. “It’s alright, Sejun. Don’t worry, it’s not…” _Important_. “It can wait. You really have to listen to me now.”

Sejun stares at him with shock on his face, and Sehun feels even more terrible.

“Listen to me,” he says. He glances at Jongdae, whose eyes are blue. Sehun hasn’t seen the switch, of course. Stanvaeld isn’t a place for things like these. “Sejun… Sejun, something happened in the Bay and I had to come back as fast as I could to make sure you were alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because someone is probably trying to kill your brother,” Jongdae cuts in.

Sejun looks at him, slightly recoils upon seeing his icy eyes and looks back at Sehun. Sehun reads disbelief, confusion, even a hint of anger – most probably directed at Jongdae – in his little brother’s eyes, and he does not blame him. He breathes in a lungful of air then starts talking.

Sejun starts crying really fast, but he listens to Sehun’s words diligently, only asking a couple of questions here and there with a shaking voice. He holds himself upright, tension so obvious on his body and yet he maintains his posture with grace and poise. This is what drew them apart, Sehun realises. Sejun’s focus on his lessons, how eager he had always been to grow into a perfect Little Prince. It is devotion like so few can manage, a level of sacrifice Sehun admires but that he is incapable of doing himself. He had always been bad at sword training and disliked political and etiquette lessons with all his might. He chose to focus on the things that seemed interesting to him – history, geography and cultures – and made sure to have absolutely no time left for the rest. Sejun, on the other hand, has always given his whole attention to every little thing put his way. He travelled to every kingdom in the Alliance to learn with the most renowned tutors, excelled at sword training and has the best calligraphy out of everyone in the castle. Even the Royal Script. He is so well-rounded, so complete and even eager for more.

But now, in the warmth of Sejun’s study, he is a young man who just learned his mother did not die a natural death. Her time had not been called by the deities. Someone took her away from them, from him, and the abundance of tears and the growing shadows under his eyes remind Sehun of himself, fourteen days before. He will have a lot of years to make up for, but this is a new beginning for them as good as any. They are not so different after all.

“Is Lady Jayanti alright?” Sejun asks. His voice breaks, but he does not flutter, does not show any ounce of shame over it. He still stands with his shoulder square, as though the Council was there, judging him. Sehun wishes he could ease him a little.

“She will be,” he says. He looks at Jongdae, who has been helpfully quiet while he talked. He only spoke when prompted by one of Sejun’s questions. “Jongdae assured me she will suffer from no lasting consequence.”

Sejun nods, thinking. “It can’t be,” he finally says, and again, his eyes fill with tears. Sehun reaches out and takes his hand. Sejun gives him a broken smile. “And you say… you say it might be Dahlia?”

Sehun shrugs. “She knows her herbs. Both Jongdae and I felt that investigating her was a clever thing to do.”

Again, Sejun’s gaze flickers to Jongdae – but it’s fleeting and he never really quite meets Jongdae’s eyes. Even when asking him about this or that during Sehun’s retelling of the last two weeks, he did not look all the way towards Jongdae, and it has bothered Sehun more than he would like to admit. Maybe one day, when he’ll be King, he’ll write an edict about how looking at Jongdae like he’s a real person is of the utmost importance.

“I could… I could help. I think.”

Sehun frowns. “What do you mean?”

Sejun wipes his cheeks with the heel of his hand, the gesture somehow childlike to Sehun. Even though Sejun is twenty-one year old, there still is something so innocent about him that is reminiscent of the days they used to spend playing hide and seek in the castle. Those were so long ago, Sehun struggles a bit to conjure the memories back, but they bring peace to his heart. He wishes he never had to tell Sejun. He wishes everything would have gone like he had hoped it would, and Sejun would have learned about the way their mother died when Sehun would have thrown the killer at his feet. But it’s just wishful thinking, now.

“If you want to investigate her, I suppose you will want to look through her room, won’t you?”

Sehun looks at Jongdae who nods. Sejun echoes the gesture, a thinking look on his face.

“Of course,” he says, more to himself. “Then… I think I can make sure she is not in the castle when you do.” He looks at them. “Because she tends to go back to her chamber a lot during the day.”

“That… Yes, that would actually really help, Sejun,” Sehun says. He catches the slight wince on Jongdae’s face. It would have helped _him_ if he had been alone in this, but doesn’t he have a deity with icy blue fingers by his side? The thought almost puts a smile on his face. Still, it would be reassuring if Dahlia really was not in the castle. “What do you have in mind?”

“It’s been a few months since the last time a member of the royal family took the Council to the quarries,” Sejun says, and here it is, the diplomacy and the pragmatism in his voice. “Winter being here could make a wonderful excuse. I will make sure we tour many of them.”

Sehun cannot refrain from wincing, but at this point it has become a reflex rather than a choice. Touring the quarries is important, at least, his mother used to tell him so, but Sehun always hated joining her and the Council when they did. Their visits are mostly meant to make sure everything is going smoothly, and to give them a chance to admire the black stone and thank the workers for their service to Stanvaeld. The tour only includes the quarries around the castle of course, as it would take days, even weeks to visit every quarry in the kingdom, but even so, properly done, it would mean the Council will be gone from dawn to dusk. 

“This would allow us to check the room of every Councilperson,” Sehun agrees, thinking. “Just to make sure,” he adds when Sejun looks at him with horrified eyes.

“Do you really think one of them could have…?”

Sehun thinks about what Jongdae told him when they went to interrogate the apothecary, about wishing it’s anyone else except the people you hold dearest. He does not want it to be Dahlia, and it may be why he is so intent on looking through every room – he’d rather it be anyone else in the Council than Dahlia. She was too dear a friend of his mother to accept it.

“I don’t know,” he replies truthfully. “Which it means we need to know for _sure_.”

Sejun hums his agreement. Silence floats around the room. The warmth is pleasing, lulling even, and Sehun eventually realises how hungry he is. It was easy to forget when numbness was spreading through his body because of the cold, but it’s coming back at him full force now.

“We should organize a quick ceremony for you,” Sejun says, breaking through faint daydreams about the Cook’s fabulous dishes. “You are missing a diamond. I will… I can take care of that. If you need to rest, I can also make sure the right words find the right ears, so that the gossip about you returning home with the Beast Rider will be exactly what we want it to be.”

Sehun snorts. Gone is the night by the white fire, gone are the freedom and the wilderness. He just wants to eat in peace and then sleep for a while, but no. Duties first and foremost. It would be even harder without Sejun’s help though, so he really should learn to be grateful rather than bitter. It was always gonna be like this anyway.

“Thank you,” he agrees with a bow, and Sejun’s face lights up. Now that he has plenty to do, he considerably perks up.

Sehun looks at Jongdae, but before he can say anything, Jongdae flashes him a smile.

“It is agreed then. Well. I will be…” he gestures vaguely at the space around him. “Around.”

His tone is teasing, still, but there’s distance in it. Sehun tries to meet his eyes with a very different kind of hunger than the one abusing his stomach, but Jongdae eludes him. He unlocks the door, walks out of the room with his back to the corridor then bows to the both of them. And then he is gone.

“I cannot believe you travelled with him,” Sejun says. “I never could have. What an odd creature.”

Sehun watches the emptiness at the door. He hums.

“Very strange,” he agrees.

Sejun smiles then wraps his arm around Sehun’s to drag him out of the room.

“We should get going! We have plenty to do!”

And plenty to do… they had. Unfortunately, Sehun does not get to see Cook until a couple of hours later, after he manages to slip away from Sejun’s attention. She welcomes him in her kitchens with a bright smile and several dishes, and Sehun enjoys every bite. Then comes a really long meeting about Sehun’s missing diamond and how it would feel so wrong to just sew it on his jacket and call it a day. Sejun shines, once again, by offering dusk as the right time for this makeshift ceremony. (He does use the word _makeshift_ , to Sehun’s surprise.) He talks about deities and darkness and finds some random event during his mother’s thirteenth year – that Sehun is pretty sure he has made up – to justify this choice. It pleases the assembly, pleases their need for symbolism and traditions, and everyone cheers and agrees on that.

Sehun is then swept away by another meeting, this time with the Council. He diverts their dissatisfaction at his blatant lack of care about _proper behaviour_ by announcing his brother, the Little Prince, will take them on a wide tour of the quarries around the castle as soon as they have everything worked out. It only helps him partially, because after the Council smiles and nods, Cheng asks the only question Sehun did not want to be asked, namely why isn’t he the one taking them? Sehun uses too many words, smiles a little too much and he knows they are not fooled. It is common knowledge Sehun has never liked those visits, and Cheng’s amused little smile tells him he has quite enjoyed watching the Great Prince struggle to find a proper excuse.

It is dark outside before Sehun knows it. Winter has come to them with force, immediately settling with its very specific monotony – it has snowed the whole day and now that the temperatures are closer to ice than rain, frost is reflecting every flicker of light coming from the castle. Sehun is asked to stand in the throne room as the steamster’s apprentice works her fingers on the hem of his jacket. Jongdae isn’t there, but Qing is.

She comes to him at the end of the ceremony while Sehun gathers the strength and courage he’ll need to cross the cold corridors to his room. She doesn’t speak. She just looks at him, her eyes sad and dark, and then she holds out her arms and hugs him close.

“I am glad you are safe,” she says in his hair.

He cannot tell her the truth, cannot shake the idea that she would run all over the castle with her long sword drawn out and threats on her lips, and he does not want to put her at risk. But as her embrace lingers, he realises she knows anyway. If she hadn’t understood before, she drew all the right conclusions from Sehun’s early return and the numerous talks about the disease spreading in Hullmast (no one ever says the Lady of the Bay was the only one who got sick).

He wraps his arm around her.

“Of course,” he eventually says, his voice light and easy.

She pulls away and looks at him. She knows, definitely. She also knows that he does too, and Sehun tries as hard as he can to make her understand he is doing his best to avenge his mother. He’ll catch the culprit, he tries to say with his eyes, but he’s tired and feeling empty, and Qing squeezes his shoulder and leaves him alone before he can be sure he put all the anger, the frustration and determination he wanted in his eyes.

Sehun drags himself, and the thirteen diamonds on his jacket, up to his room.

It is freezing cold inside despite the fire burning low in the hearth, and the reason is quite obvious. The wooden panel that should be blocking his window for the night is resting against the wall.

Jongdae is sitting cross-legged on the thick carpet by the fire, a piece of paper in his hands. He lifts his eyes towards Sehun when the latter opens the door. And Sehun feels like he breathes his first lungful of air after too many hours spent holding his breath.

“Hey,” he says with a smile. He closes the latch behind him. “You’re here.”

“Of course,” Jongdae, in the exact same oblivious tone Sehun used with Qing not an hour before. “We have work to do.”

Sehun glances at the piece of paper and smiles at Jongdae’s furrowed brow. He seems determined to keep his eyes on the document, and his face is all wrong, scrunched up in mock focus. Sehun knows he is not to ask. Not about Sejun’s plan, or how his day has been – nothing that isn’t this time between the two of us. He finds he does not care, so he walks to his window, blocks the icy air trickling through the joints with the wood panel and goes to Jongdae next. He sits before him wordlessly, rubs his hands to warm his already cold fingers then gestures at the paper.

“What do you have here?” he asks.

Jongdae turns the page towards him. It is full of names.

“Tien has been trained by Qing, and Qing always used to keep a detailed list of everyone who joined her procession when she had to travel with the Queen. It was not a far reach to expect Tien to do exactly the same thing. I stole her travel journal before we left the Bay.”

Sehun chuckles. “She’ll know it’s you.”

Jongdae shrugs. “There is no love lost between us already,” he says. “I thought we could check each name and gather every bit of information we have on those persons.”

Sehun nods with a little smile. Jongdae casts him a brief look.

“I am aware it is very unlikely the poisoner will appear on that list. Most likely they travelled behind us or were skilled enough to hide amongst the caravan. Or maybe they left in advance as soon as word got out of your coming departure to the Bay.”

“Jongdae.”

“But I thought it was worth a try still. They could have made a mistake too, or thought themselves too clever and us, too stupid.”

“Jongdae,” Sehun interrupts him, again. Jongdae finally, _finally_ , lifts his head to look at him. “Read me the list,” he asks, gently.

Jongdae stares into his face for a short while, gauging and studying Sehun with way too much ease – but this time, Sehun can read him too. At least enough to understand a little of the awkwardness, the sadness on his face. He smiles again, and Jongdae eventually smiles too.

“Read me the list,” Sehun repeats.

Jongdae nods, glances down at the list then back up at Sehun before he finally brings his whole focus on Tien’s travel journal. The list starts with the names of the soldiers within Tien’s unit, and Jongdae and Sehun start discussing right away. Sehun stubbornly wants to direct all their doubts on the soldier who was so against Jongdae’s presence – her name is Jiao – but it only makes Jongdae chuckle and ask him if they should suspect everyone who dislikes him. Of course, Sehun wants to say yes, and of course he chokes on the word before it is out, but Jongdae looks at him with gentleness in his eyes, and maybe he knows Sehun really thinks they should.

They keep on going with the list. Sehun is more and more awake with every hour passing by, his tiredness long forgotten. It reminds him of the nights they spent in his tent during the journey to the Bay, and how, slowly but surely, the hours spent together cut them away from the rest of the world. It is incredible to feel the freedom that comes with it, with the absolute belief that nothing exists out of those walls. There is only this fire, this bed, this warm thick carpet, and Jongdae and his list, his laughter, his crinkling eyes.

Sehun feels brave enough to crawl to Jongdae and cup his face, and maybe even rest his lips against his forehead, his cheek, and the fact that he doesn’t do it barely matters. It feels like he could. In this world, it feels like he could any time, and it is enough, for now.


	2. Feather light

Sejun hugs him tightly in the privacy of his study room the morning before he leaves with the Council to tour the quarries, three days later. It is still dark outside but it has stopped snowing two days before, and the snow-covered hills and stones have awakened a new brightness during the day. The stars have shone through the night, and it is expected that the sky will remain clear throughout the day. Living this close to the mountains offers them some sort of protection against most of the bad weather coming from the north, until heavy clouds get piled up on the other side of the mountains and finally slip past their peaks to swoop down on Stanvaeld. But that will only happen in a few days.

“Whatever you’ll find, you’ll tell me, won’t you?” Sejun asks for the hundredth time, but Sehun keeps his remark to himself and nods. He did keep his brother in the dark for two weeks. “Even if you _don’t_ find anything. I want to know.”

“Sejun. I will. Now, let us go. We will be late for the ceremony.”

Sejun nods then adjusts his jacket before making his way to the door. Sehun follows suit. He knows he made the right choice by telling the truth to his little brother, but he wishes Sejun would be more… realistic? He is so convinced Dahlia isn’t the culprit, so sure no one they actually know did it that he sometimes talks to Sehun as though Sehun was some stupid child with very extravagant caprices. It is annoying at best, worrisome at worst. Sejun is about to spend a whole day with the Council after all, and the many people that will tag along will be no assurance – Lady Jayanti was poisoned in the midst of a feast after all. Sehun did try to ask him to be more careful, but Sejun dismissed his worry with many perfectly well-worded arguments about how he should still behave normally so that the killer wouldn’t realise they have not been fooled. This conversation only gave Sehun a headache that lasted for a whole day.

He muses over his worry during the Red Diamond Ceremony. The apprentice sews the sixteenth diamond on his jacket – the seamster is not back yet; snow has most surely slowed down the procession on its way home. Sehun’s jacket catches on many things now, papers, the fabric of the chair in his room where he puts his jacket every night, doors sometimes, and just yesterday, Jongdae’s robe. He still has twenty nine more diamonds to wear.

Sejun does not lessen his worry after the ceremony. He quickly leaves his side to join the Council, followed by the usual gathering of court members and nobles who always gravitate around him. Most of them will follow him through the cold to every boring visit, just to be able to brag about spending a day with the Little Prince. Sehun clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but he refrains from calling back his brother. People trickle out of the throne room, little by little, and Sehun remains by the Crystal Throne while Jongdae makes his way to him. It has become usual enough by now that very few people still watch the scene. On the contrary, they all seem quite eager to leave the room, and today’s big event with the touring of the quarries makes them even quicker to leave.

Good.

“Good morning, Great Prince,” Jongdae greets when he reaches him. He uses this voice, the polite, neutral one when he thinks he can be heard. Same goes for the Great Prince title; Sehun has become his King already, and sometimes, he is just Sehun. He happens to like those times the best. “How are you feeling today?”

“Very well,” Sehun answers with the same neutrality. He glances over Jongdae’s shoulders. Only a handful of people are still in the room, but they’re near the double doors, about to leave. Qing stands amongst them, and her eyes are settled on Sehun and Jongdae.

She watches as Jongdae takes Sehun’s hand and arranges the red ribbon around his fingers and wrist, and Sehun watches her. Their eyes meet, and she frowns slightly. Then gestures at the few people still talking by the door to exit the throne room. She is the last one to leave, and she does it with another look over her shoulder. Sehun feels a wave of gratefulness wash over him.

He turns his eyes towards Jongdae, who is already watching him with snow in his irises.

“Are you ready?”

“You?” Sehun asks. Jongdae smiles, wide and playful, and Sehun guesses the teasing before it comes. “Alright,” he sighs with a little smile of his own. “Good, then.”

“Let’s go,” Jongdae agrees.

He finishes with the red ribbon on Sehun’s hand but does not let go of his hand. His own fingers wrap around Sehun’s, shorter but stronger, and he drags Sehun towards the hidden passageway behind the thrones. They pull the heavy white drapes together, then slip behind the secret door. Jongdae leads the way to the Councilmembers’ wing and when they reach the right corridor, they remain hidden in the wall for a little while longer, just to make sure. The secrecy of the tunnel makes it very narrow and they cannot stand side by side in it, so they both instinctively rest their back on each wall to be able to see the other’s face.

“I dreamed of the man with the yellow cape again last night,” Jongdae says after a little while. There’s hustling on the other side of the wall – servants are working in the Councilmembers’ rooms but the smell of fresh herbs thrown into the various fires tells them they are almost done. It is loud enough that it will cover the sound of their voices, but Jongdae still whispers.

Sehun does too. “Was it the same dream as usual?”

Jongdae nods.

“He was just standing there, watching me. I could not see his face, but I kept trying to because I felt like it was the most important thing ever.”

Sehun worries his bottom lip.

“Maybe we should…” Jongdae watches him with wondering eyes and Sehun shrugs. “We could find out when the next night market is and check it out? To try to find him again. Who knows?”

Jongdae smiles.

“We?” he says. “Oh, but my King, that is no place for a member of the royal family. I am afraid you would find it quite barbaric and unworthy of your time.”

Sehun snorts and gives himself the right to kick Jongdae in the shin. Jongdae chuckles and silence settles down again around them. It is dark in the tunnel, but not so dark that Sehun can't see the expression on Jongdae's face.

“It's tomorrow night,” Jongdae finally says. “The next night market. I think I will go.” He lifts his eyes to Sehun's, and Sehun nods.

“I will too, then.”

Jongdae smiles again. The hustling on the other side of the wall has calmed down but it takes a few more minutes for it to become distant and muffled. The castle is always thriving with life, especially in winter when there is so little to do outside, but the Council wing is far enough from the heart of the keep to allow them some relative discretion. Their eyes meet again, after what feels like endless minutes of silence for Sehun, and Jongdae nods, slightly. Whatever lightness they had found in the hollowness serving as a secret passage, it is gone as soon as they step out.

Sehun walks down the corridor. He knows Dahlia's door. He's walked that corridor so many times in his life. It is the exact same corridor it's always been, with the stone floor and the draping on the walls, and the large wooden doors. It was a warm corridor before, one that immediately made you realise you were near very important people. Now, it feels morbid and dead. Long gone is the pleasant smell of herbs and spices. It smells like death to him.

“This one,” Sehun says, gesturing at the high door he has stopped before.

“I know,” Jongdae replies. He lifts a hesitant hand towards the door. Many of the Councilmembers' doors have been engraved, to show respect and care for the work of those using them. Dahlia's door is a beautiful relief of flowers and branches, and the _irony_. “Something’s wrong.”

Sehun wants to ask, but Jongdae gestures him to silence with a shake of his head. He then taps his finger against his nose, wordlessly asking Sehun to smell the air around them. Sehun does, of course, all the while trying to ignore how reminiscent this is of a cursed day, not so long ago. He first thinks the memory of that day is filling his mind and twisting reality around him, but the look on Jongdae’s face is enough to prove him wrong: there is a smell, a very faint one, one that he would define as bitter and acrid.

He looks back at Jongdae, frozen. Jongdae stares at him for a little while before reaching out and taking Sehun’s hand. He lowers it until Sehun’s fingers brush against the hilt of his sword. Blue explodes almost immediately in Jongdae’s eyes, bleeding even further than the dark border of his irises and giving him a terrifying gaze. He wets his lips.

“Stay behind me.”

He presses his hand against the door and opens it. He takes another glance at Sehun then steps into the room. Sehun follows suit.

It is a very nice bedroom - definitely nicer than many other rooms in the castle, but appropriate for Dahlia's social status within the keep. The smell isn’t stronger in it, but it’s definitely still there. Sehun’s eyes travel across the room, taking in the several bouquets of dried flowers and the little furniture. Just like her, Dahlia’s room is austere, severe. She only has a chest of drawers, a very large wardrobe and a couple of bedside tables. It is nothing Sehun had not expected though.

He has no time to rejoice because the door slams shut behind him and icy cold fingers suddenly wrap around his neck. He gasps and makes to draw out his sword, but another hand close around his wrist like a claw and merciless fingertips press hard against his flesh, numbing his nerves until he drops the sword. The sound it makes when it falls to the stone floor is faint, muffled by the throbbing of fear and adrenaline taking over Sehun’s hearing.

It all happened in mere seconds.

Jongdae whirls around and the air crackles around him. The blue in his eyes completely overpowers the white now, and there’s a faint light coming from his body, like a halo trembling around him, barely visible. He bares his teeth.

“Don’t—” the man holding Sehun starts, but it’s already too late.

Jongdae explodes in a flash of bright light that burns Sehun’s eyes. He guesses more than he sees Jongdae’s body rushing to him. He does feel the sudden force pulling him away though, and he hears a loud crack of magic behind him. He trips over his own sword and falls to the floor and it’s adrenaline and instincts that drive him forward. He grabs the hilt and quickly jumps back on his feet.

“By the deities,” he gasps. He lowers his blade. It’ll be useless, anyway.

Jongdae is face to face with another man, his own sword made of trembling light raised high and blocked by another similar blade. Long fingers are wrapped around its guard. Sehun’s eyes follow the delicacy of these hands to the thinness of the wrists, up to the wide shoulders and the unruly white, silvery hair partially held back by long, coal-black feathers and cracked beads. Dark eyes are challenging Jongdae and thin lips are flashing teeth as sharp as fangs. There are burn scars on the man’s face, stretching over his cheekbones and up to his temples. They’re barely recognizable because of the feral expression, but Sehun sees them nonetheless. Constellations.

Then, he registers the yellow coat the man is wearing, and suddenly, he is the one covered with burn marks.

“You,” he says, and it empties his lungs.

He lifts his sword again, and never before has it felt so light. The man’s eyes flicker to him – they’re black – and he snarls.

“Sehun,” Jongdae starts. He glances at him over his shoulder, takes in Sehun’s blade then looks back at his opponent. They are stuck in a game of push and pull, their swords trembling against the other. Whereas Jongdae’s blade seems to flicker with a heart of blinding light, the man’s seems more stable, although still as immaterial as Jongdae’s. It seems to be made of brightness, but the fuller is as black as black can be, blacker even. To Sehun, it feels evil.

He clenches his fingers around the guard of his sword and he charges at the man.

“Sehun!”

There’s another loud bang, an echo of power as Jongdae pushes the man against the wall, then he whirls around and stops Sehun’s sword in mid-air. The man drops his sword which disappears before it hits the stone, but he shows absolutely no sign of fear or worry as he lifts his eyes towards Sehun.

Sehun glares at Jongdae. His blade is sharp and hungry, Jongdae’s hand is mighty and powerful.

“What are you doing?! Let go of it!”

“I can’t,” Jongdae says, and it makes absolutely no sense. The blue slowly fading away from his eyes makes no sense, the apologetic look on his face, even the bare hand he is using to hold back Sehun’s sword as though it was nothing more than a piece of wood makes no sense. “Sehun, please.”

The walls slightly tremble around them, and a distant long whine fills the room. Sehun feels Orage’s presence in ways he cannot describe. He does not need the twitch of Jongdae's mouth, nor the flash of his fangs. It is in the air around them, so dense and sizzling with power, it is in the shadow around Jongdae, drawn by the dancing of the flames in the hearth and now getting so much bigger.

But this time, it feels like Sehun is the one spitting fire and growing wings. He glances at the man with the yellow coat again, still standing behind Jongdae, teeth and dark eyes on full display.

“Jongdae!” Sehun screams. “Let go of my sword!”

He pushes harder on his blade, but Jongdae does not budge in the slightest.

Something bitter and angry explodes in Sehun’s chest. He sees red, like the dried blood on his mother’s hair and pillow, and he sees yellow, like the man’s coat, the fear-stricken look on the apothecary’s face. His fingers tighten around the hilt of his sword and who cares if he isn’t the most talented swordsman there is, he still knows how to kill a man and he has no intention of it being graceful and delicate. He wants blood and ugliness, because it was so bloody that day, _oh_ and quite ugly and this would feel like justice.

“Sehun, please,” Jongdae repeats. He glances at the man then back at Sehun. “Listen to me, please.”

Orage whines outside. She must be trampling on the roof, because the walls don’t only tremble, there is now a faint thundering noise that will, sooner or later, bring more people to the Council’s wings. Sehun does not care at all.

“He killed my mother,” Sehun says, and it burns like acid in his mouth.

“Please,” Jongdae repeats, in a soft, gentle voice. “Please, don’t.” His eyes are pleading and desperate. Sorry, even. It pains him to ask and he makes it very obvious on his face, but it pains Sehun to imagine not killing this man right here, right now. Does Jongdae see it on his face, too? “Sehun. Please. Please.”

Jongdae angles his body differently so that he can reach out with his free hand.

“Please,” he says again, his fingers wrapping around Sehun’s wrist.

His touch sends tingles up Sehun’s arm and straight to his chest. His own lungs jitter at the sensation. He looks at his target again. The man is watching them, his gaze unreadable but heavy on Sehun. Their eyes meet and something flickers in his – something dark and bitter, too. He seems to hate Sehun as much as Sehun hates him. His eyes are dangerous, cold and sharp, and yet, they look so much like Jongdae’s. It’s the same blackness, the same depth, like the surface of a lake on a cold winter night, with just the ripple of a hint of what lives under. Sehun glances at Jongdae, once, twice, then he lingers there.

No, Jongdae’s eyes are different. Oh, the eagerness, the desolation. They are so big, so deep, and they call out to Sehun with such solemnity. Sehun feels his own eyes swell with tears.

“Don’t ask me that,” he croaks out. He softly shakes his head, but Jongdae keeps staring at him, pinning him down and leaving him absolutely no possibility to look away. “I can’t.”

Jongdae’s fingers are gentle and delicate, but Sehun only feels their violence when Jongdae uses his grip on his wrist to lower the sword. He lets go of it as well. His palm bears no trace of the blade’s contact with his skin.

“I am so sorry,” he whispers when the tip of the sword falls to the floor. “But he comes from the mountains. He comes from home and I need to know.”

“I hate you,” Sehun blurts out, because it feels so unfair that his sword left no trace on Jongdae’s hand, when Jongdae’s fingers burned his wrist and left him with a sword too heavy to slide back into its sheath.

Jongdae stares at him for what feels like forever. Orage has stopped pacing back and forth on the roof and everything is silent again. Sehun wipes his cheeks with the back of his hands, his eyes shooting arrows at Jongdae.

“I’m sorry,” Jongdae says, for the nth time. It comes out a little broken, a little unsure. And yet, he still turns towards the man. “You’re incomplete,” he says. “Your magic will do you no good with me. I am much stronger.”

The man snorts. “The best of the best, indeed.” He looks at Sehun, and Sehun hears only mocking and taunting in his voice.

“What’s your name?” Jongdae asks.

The man bares his teeth, but it’s more show than anything else. “Baekhyun,” he says. “And you’re Jongdae.”

“Baekhyun,” Jongdae repeats, as though tasting the name with the tip of his tongue.

They stay silent, watching the other with curiosity and a bit of eagerness. They look like two lone wolves who just stumbled into the other on an unclaimed territory, and there’s a handful of possibilities just within reach. They could become pack, they could also keep going their own way, or they could jump at the other’s throat and pull until blood fills their mouth – and they both acknowledge this plethora of futures with a respectful silence. Sehun is left on his own though, with only the cold grip of his sword between his fingers. They refuse to let go.

“When was the last time you connected with your creature?” Jongdae asks.

_Incomplete_ , he had called this Baekhyun. No colours in his eyes, no constellations and a flickering power feeding on shadows. _Cursed_ , he had said about the magic which killed the Queen. 

“It’s been too long,” Baekhyun says, and his pride, his anger crack to reveal a hint of hollowness and despair. “It has greatly weakened me, as you saw.”

Jongdae glances at Sehun then at his sword. He reaches out to put a hand over Sehun’s wrist, but Sehun pulls away. The tip of his blade scratches against the stone floor. He keeps his eyes on Baekhyun so he does not see Jongdae’s reaction, only his fingers retreating slowly.

“You are in the presence of the Great Prince of Stanvaeld,” Jongdae says, formality and ceremony in his voice, and it sounds terrible. “You know our traditions. You owe him respect and loyalty.”

To this, Baekhyun snickers.

“I owe him nothing. It is because of men like him that I am here. It is because of the greed of their kind that I am stuck without my Astre. It is because of their absolute disrespect towards others that I am the prisoner of someone else’s will.” His anger flares up, poisonous and bright. The fire in the hearth doubles, the light in the room gets aggressive, painful. It burns Sehun’s eyelids when he blinks. “You call the woman living here Dahlia, _I_ have to call her Mistress, because she found me in the woods at the feet of the mountains one day and she decided she could use me. I just wanted to explore, to see where our greatest had been taken away. She was the first human I saw when I landed in Stanvaeld, and it’s all it took, Jongdae, best of the best. And you’re telling me I owe this human respect? Loyalty?”

He bares his teeth, and his voice rasps against the back of his throat, as though on the edge of a groan that never fully comes. He spits at the ground, at Sehun’s feet.

“I owe him blood.”

Silence stretches in the room. Sehun’s anger rises in answer to Baekhyun’s, and part of him knows that were he to throw himself at Baekhyun, he would get crushed in the blink of an eye, but there’s hunger in this knowledge. He would be willing to get crushed if it guaranteed him the chance to look at Baekhyun’s blood, even for a split second. He would be willing to welcome the deities’ dark fingers, to let them take his eyes and his heart, his soul, if in exchange, he could smell Baekhyun’s blood, like he had to smell his mother’s.

He takes a first step, his legs shaking because of the adrenaline and the rage, but Jongdae is quicker. He places himself before Sehun, without a single glance at him, but his position is defensive. Orage barges in in her own way, fills the space between Sehun and Jongdae and makes the air sizzle with power. She is the aggressive one.

“He is mine to protect,” Jongdae says. His groan is on full display. “I would be very careful, if I were you.”

Baekhyun snorts, but his dismissive behaviour lacks convincing. His eyes flicker from Sehun to Jongdae, nervous.

“You protect the human,” he says. “And you threaten one of your own. Growing up in the kingdom of men has done terrible things to you, best of the best.”

“He is my King.”

Baekhyun squints at Sehun, judging. His eyes take him in piece by piece, pull him apart and gauge every tiny detail with such hatred and disgust that Sehun is thankful for Jongdae’s protection despite his anger.

“Did Dahlia ask you to kill the Queen?”

“Ask me?” Baekhyun draws his attention to Jongdae. He smiles, and it looks like the last grin of a wolf before it tears its prey to pieces. “She did not. She ordered me. Gave me some herbs to curse and a way to get them to the Queen. I had to use broken magic because I couldn’t access mine anymore. I haven’t talked to the stars in so long because of her. Have you tried broken magic before, Jongdae? It burned my fingers, and I saw the sun as a black sphere for days after that.”

He lifts his hands and offers his palms to them. His fingers are long and bony – Sehun would have seen them as delicate if not for the scars over them, like cracks on a broken then fixed ceramic vase. Baekhyun’s skin is the paint over the ceramic, and the scars are the only way to peek at what he is truly made of: pure darkness tainting him and spreading like poison.

“I have done everything she told me to. I have kept by her side every day, followed her everywhere she went. When she learned your Prince was to go to Hullmast, she sent me there with more herbs to curse, more black magic to conjure.” He smiles his terrible smile, and the inside of his mouth is black. “I had no idea they would share their food. He would have died if I had. Your beautiful, fragile Prince would have died and you would have been free, best of the best.”

Jongdae’s groan starts as a low rumble in his chest – it rises to power and is quickly joined by Orage’s angry snarl outside. Baekhyun glances at the roof and for a second, he looks afraid. Or envious. Maybe sad, even. Just… not angry and fiery anymore.

“You will never hurt him,” Jongdae growls. “Never.”

“Never?” Baekhyun says. “But I will have to. He is the key to my freedom. She assured me she would let me go and tell me where she hid my Astre once he is dead.” His eyes leave Jongdae’s face for Sehun’s and the look in them is almost enough to freeze Sehun’s anger. Almost. “There will be another Prince, another King, because there are so many of them. What is one dead and forgotten in the scheme of things? What if it’s this one?”

“What about my brother?” Sehun interrupts. Once again, Baekhyun’s eyes travel back to him, and there’s pleasure in them. The kind of pleasure you have when you put traps for a mouse and it jumps straight into it much quicker than you thought. Oh, but the deities help him, Sehun will hold his ground like the fiercest mouse there ever was. He tightens his grip around his sword. “What about Sejun?”

Baekhyun does not say anything. He does not move, does not answer, he merely smiles and Sehun feels the trap shrink down around him. He puts his hand on Jongdae’s shoulder and takes a first step out of his shadow, his first step towards Baekhyun. Jongdae turns his head towards him, his brow knitted together and tension bleeding out of him, but Sehun holds him in place with his hand.

“What about my brother?” he repeats.

Baekhyun opens his mouth, but Jongdae stops him. “She has your creature, right?”

Baekhyun nods and completely dismisses Sehun to watch Jongdae. But Sehun is the one holding the sword, isn’t he? His anger flares up, his heart starts beating so loudly against his ribcage that he barely hears anything other than the throbbing and thundering of his own blood in his ears.

“If I were to help you… Would you help us?” Jongdae asks.

Baekhyun considers Jongdae. He glances at Sehun a couple of times, but he never lingers. He never even checks the sword in his hand. Then he nods, swift and cautious.

“Tell us if she means to hurt the Little Prince,” Jongdae says. He straightens, and Sehun hates him for that. He hates the lack of aggressiveness and the openness Jongdae is now showing. He pulls his hand away from his shoulder, as though the touch had burned him, and maybe it did. Jongdae glances at him, then back at Baekhyun. “And Orage and I will help you.”

Baekhyun looks towards the roof. Orage has stopped groaning as well. It’s mostly silent by now, except for some shuffling when the tension peaks now and then. Sehun hates her too.

“She does not care about the younger one,” Baekhyun eventually says. “And neither do I. He is weaker, younger. He will be easy to manipulate. This one,” he gestures at Sehun, “is to be the last victim.”

Jongdae nods. “Alright,” he says. He lifts his eyes towards the roof – it’s just a flicker, barely a blink, but it’s enough. “Alright,” he repeats, but this time, his voice is almost muffled out by the shifting and cracking they can hear on the roof.

He turns towards Sehun, but Sehun refuses to meet his eyes. Oh, but Jongdae does try though. He lingers there as long as he can, and his eyes are two pits of darkness in Sehun’s side vision, but Sehun remains impassive. 

He blinks a few tears that burn his eyes and finally looks at Jongdae. Misery flashes on Jongdae’s face and hurt, and Sehun would be heart-broken if he wasn’t so destructively angry. He can’t reach out, because he has forgotten how, and the only thing he can do is hold his sword more tightly and lift it up slightly, just enough for the movement to catch Jongdae’s eyes.

“Don’t,” Jongdae says in a low, low voice. He puts his hand over Sehun’s again, but there’s no strength to the touch. It’s gone before Sehun can register it. “Don’t.”

Sehun looks away. He feels Jongdae breathe in close to him, feels the coldness emanating from his body, and it makes him ache. When Jongdae eventually steps away, Sehun misses him so wholly it hurts, but he refuses to follow him.

“Orage is waiting for us,” Jongdae says, but it’s aimed at Baekhyun this time. His tone is stronger and more solid. Sehun still does not look at him. “Let’s hurry. I expect the Council to be back before nightfall.”

Sehun hears Jongdae walk towards the window. He hears him take out the wooden panel blocking it, and when Jongdae finally opens it, he feels the air, biting and cold, rush into the room. He hears Baekhyun join him and notices how similar their gaits are – soft and discreet, with more grace than a human could achieve. Most of the time, Jongdae makes no noise when he walks down the corridor, and apparently, Baekhyun shares that ability. Baekhyun is about to ride Orage too. Baekhyun is about to be helped by Jongdae, for a whole day.

Sehun whirls around with a gasp, just in time to see Baekhyun’s yellow coat disappear through the window. He climbs up Orage’s tail with so much… ease, and, the deities have mercy on Sehun’s soul, this fuels another dark feeling that takes over in his chest. His anger morphs into something even hungrier, even heavier.

“Wait!” Sehun cries, just as Jongdae steps across the window ledge. “What am I supposed to do?!”

Jongdae looks up towards him. He grips the window ledge and breathes in deeply.

“Nothing,” he says. “Please. Do nothing.”

“Nothing?! Should I just… wait here and pretend like I don’t know anything?”

Jongdae shakes his head. He looks so sad. And somehow, hopeful? He looks like the perfect embodiment between night and day. He is dawn, with colours lingering on the edge of his face, and the dead of the night still heavy in his eyes. Sehun wonders if he is the sun or the night in that story.

“Of course not,” Jongdae says eventually, his voice soft and gentle. “No, you are to be safe, my King. Please, do not do anything if I am not here to protect you. Please.”

There’s a lump growing in the back of Sehun’s throat. His sword feels too heavy now, and he has to focus not to drop it on the floor. He shows the window with his free hand.

“What about you?” he says. “What are you doing?”

Jongdae bites his lips. “I have to know. I just… I have to talk to him. And to help him. I have to, Sehun.” He pauses and more darkness spills onto his face. It’s Sehun’s. It’s Sehun’s shadow. “I am sorry.”

Orage’s tail brushes against his shoulder. Jongdae looks at her, fresh air colouring his cheeks in pink hues, then turns his head back to Sehun.

“Do not do anything. Please.” He stares into Sehun’s face. “Please.”

Sehun nods, without intending to, but it just comes to him, his own wants and needs pushed away by the growing darkness on Jondgae’s face. Jongdae does not look relieved at all – he just looks. At Sehun, at his eyes, his face, his lips, at the hand on the sword. And then he turns around and jumps out of the window. It’s perfectly silent. Orage’s tail is gone in a second. Sehun imagines her wings, covered with snow but still so strong and powerful, and then he hears her. The sound of the wind she is able to conjure, the sound of her flying away. She leaves a trail of power behind her, and it blows into the room and knocks over the many bouquets of dried flowers. A few of Dahlia’s pillows roll on her bed then fall on the other side.

Sehun does not budge. He does not drop his sword.  
He does nothing.

  
Sehun thinks about wounds festering during the rest of the day. It is a cold day, but it’s not snowing, which means that many choose to go outside. He can hear people laughing and enjoying the weather everywhere he goes, but it is almost as though their voices were reaching him through thick fog. The beginning of winter is always easier, always more prompt to awe and content, but it is fleeting and soon enough the overpowering darkness and the harshness of the north winds will darken the general mood. Sehun feels like he is already walking in the midst of a blizzard, already living during those days where the sun only shines for a couple of hours. But at least, this fragile infatuation for winter offers him a semblance of tranquillity, and he is free to pick at his wounds – which he is the only one to see.

They’re in full display though, and they’re festering. He first tries to stay in the quietness of his room, far above the snowed grounds of the inner ward so that no laughter or cries of joy can reach him, but he finds himself under siege there, completely overpowered by the space around him. He first considers taking out the wood panel on his window to look at the sky but he quickly decides against it. He does not expect it to be any less empty than the room around him, and he’d rather avoid tearing more flesh around his open wounds. He decides to hide in his study instead. There will be another fire there and far less space, and maybe, just maybe, Sehun will be able to fill it all by pretending to work or study.

He does nothing of the sort.

He merely sits by his work table, fingers rolling over the tiniest of reliefs on the wood, and his eyes watching things that are not happening in front of him.

His mother, lying on her bed, her eyes open but her heart dead. Dead. She is dead.  
Dahlia’s face, her stern beauty, the way she would sometimes smile at him during some Council meetings when he said some things she thought were clever.  
Lady Jayanti shaking on her bed and blood flowing down her chin.  
He sees Jongdae’s pleading eyes, the despair in them, their eagerness and want. He sees his anger when he tells about his own traditions of mourning, the terrible loneliness that was radiating from him and how Sehun could never, ever, soothe it for him. Not this kind of loneliness. This is a loneliness meant for Baekhyun.

His mind is stuck in a loop of constant motion.  
His sword falling to the ground, Jongdae begging for him to step back. Baekhyun’s angry eyes, the rage in his snarl, the disgust in his words.  
It all merges together, creating a bouquet of muddy colours Sehun can’t really tell apart anymore, and it’s driving him crazy.  
Wounds festering.

It costs him the rest of his day. It costs him his focus and his ability to do anything else than to think. He does not go down to dinner, and when Qing knocks at his door, he pretends he does not hear. The Council has most surely gotten home, and Sejun will soon come to him. Sehun has thought a lot about what he would say, but he decides the intimacy of his room might be better for such a talk. So, after making sure no one is waiting to ambush him in the corridor (Qing with angry eyes and another trail in her hands, for example) he leaves his study and makes his way back to his room.

He does not expect the room to be occupied already.

“By the deities, Sehun!” Sejun gasps.

Oh, it would be quite funny if Sehun wasn’t mentally limping and bleeding. His brother has confined himself to the little entrance room, and his face looks like it is frozen in constant shock. The room itself is big enough for him, and for both Jongdae and Baekhyun, who are standing by the (open) window, but it seems to cost him greatly to even breathe the same air they do.

“There are two of them,” Sejun says.

His eyes are round in their sockets, and they’re flickering to the side, as though directing Sehun to the horrendous vision that is not one, but _two_ Beast Riders in the castle. It would be funny, indeed.

“There are,” Sehun says with a nod. He gestures his brother into the room and waits patiently for him to gather his courage and dare to take the couple of steps needed. Sehun follows suit. “We have found Baekhyun in Dahlia’s room this morning. He comes from the same place Jongdae does, and he has been made prisoner by Dahlia, in a way.”

“What,” Sejun breathes out.

Sehun pretends he does not hear it. In truth, it costs him every ounce of strength he has left not to turn and look at Jongdae, and just… drink him in.

“You are aware that Jongdae’s people are linked to winged creatures, aren’t you? It is a vital bond for them, of the utmost important. Dahlia has taken Baekhyun’s creature away and she is keeping it somewhere. He has to obey her every order if he wants to see it again.” He pauses, breathes in and finally turns toward Jongdae and Baekhyun. “Did I get that right?”

“Astre is not an _it_ ,” Baekhyun snarls. “He is my friend.”

“Uh,” Sejun breathes out. Oh, he has always been so literate and articulate. Who knew it would only take two pairs of dark eyes and a few flashes of white teeth for him to lose his composure?

“Right,” Sehun says. He faces Baekhyun’s burning eyes. He looks pretty much the same as he did in the morning, except his glossy hair is now all wild around his head, a sign of a day spent in the sky. His anger is still as obvious, but it seems softer at the edges, dormant almost. And yet, Sehun still feels his hatred, hot as lava, and he wonders, for a very short second, what kind of blood would Baekhyun bleed if he was to cut him with his sword. Would he spill fire and smoke like creatures from the ancient times? Sehun would not be surprised.

“Why would Dahlia…?” Sejun says. He frowns then asks again. “Why would Dahlia even do that? I thought they were friends… Weren’t they friends?”

His eyes eagerly search on Sehun’s face, with absolutely no care for what Sehun might be feeling. Sejun digs holes in him to try and find his answers with more eagerness than Sehun has ever seen him show before. He’s never experienced his brother as jittery and intense as he is right now, and he isn’t sure how to proceed.

“I have no idea,” he says, sincerely. “My bet is that it has to do with the new Frimas treaty, but I don’t…” He pauses and searches for his words. The start of a plan came to him during the day, and he had the exact words all planned out. He sighs. “But I know we have to stop her. Although she is known for her tactics in warfare so we have to proceed with caution.”

“You cannot attack her, she still has my Astre!”

Sehun shuts down Baekhyun’s interruption with a gesture of his hand, and it earns him a terrifying snarl and a new look at Baekhyun’s extremely sharp teeth. It is not a full groan, because it lacks the ferocity of a creature groaning in concert with him, but it is scary enough that Jongdae takes Baekhyun’s hand in his to calm him down. Baekhyun immediately relaxes, although he does not look pleased at it in the slightest. He still closes his fingers around Jongdae’s.

And again, Sehun thinks about blood and wounds and bare flesh. The familiarity, the gentleness of the gesture between them will haunt him late into the night.

“I will not go to Burgh and Marisk, like the traditions dictate I should.” Sehun looks over at his brother. “ _You_ will go, Sejun. As Little Prince, you will go and receive their condolences. It will keep you away from the castle and away from Dahlia so that, if things were to go awry, you would be far and safe.” He turns towards Baekhyun, unwavering. “Because she does not want to harm him.”

It is not a question but an affirmation, and yet, Sehun is still asking for confirmation. He wants solidity – he needs it.

Jongdae answers, not Baekhyun. “He has assured me she does not aim to hurt the Little Prince at all.”

It happens in the blink of an eye. Sehun and Jongdae’s gaze meet over the middle of the room. They clash like Sehun’s sword and Jongdae’s hand did earlier. It’s short and fleeting, but it’s intense, and Sehun stops breathing just so that he can gather his entire focus on taking Jongdae in. He looks sad, still. On the edge of something Sehun cannot quite fathom. His hair is perfectly tied with the red ribbon – he most certainly rearranged it after it was mistreated by the high altitude. He looks small but he seems eager too, and it makes him overwhelming. His presence is swelling all around Sehun, filling the room and making its way into his lungs, and he can’t do anything about it. He wouldn’t want to, anyway. He does nothing.

“Good,” he says, breathing in more of Jongdae and drawing his attention on Sejun. “Would you be willing to go?”

Sejun fervently nods. “Shall I go to Frimas as well?”

“No, I will. When this is all over, I will go there myself. I will have to meet King Ammà about the treaty anyway, and I’d rather do it in person.”

“This is all very beautiful and well-thought,” Baekhyun butts in. “Great, great thinking, prince of men, but do you care about anything other than your weakling of a brother?” He bares his lips and Sejun recoils.

_Do not talk to me,_ Sehun wants to say. Instead, he breathes in quietly.

“Sejun going to both Burgh and Marisk will grant us at least two weeks to find Astre.” Baekhyun scrunches up his nose in disgust when Sehun trips a little over the pronunciation of his creature’s name. “Maybe even more.” Sehun blinks then turns towards Jongdae. His heart jumps in his chest. “Do you feel it is achievable?”

Jongdae nods. He is still holding Baekhyun’s hand, but there’s formality in the way he holds himself, and Sehun sees it as an insult to himself. Jongdae hasn’t been fully professional with him for so long now that Sehun has forgotten how cold it makes him sound.

“I have felt Astre today, I am quite sure of it. She probably hid it close to the castle so she can watch over him. She has a deep knowledge of the herbs and she probably sealed his presence with many concoctions to hide him from Baekhyun. But _I_ am not cut off from Orage’s power. I will find him.” He pauses, then nods and turns to look at Baekhyun. “I will,” he says again.

Baekhyun receives this solemn promise with a cloudy look in his eyes. He clenches his fingers around Jongdae’s and his grip seems to soften somehow. He looks away, glances at Sejun then drops his eyes to the floor.

“Very well,” Sehun eventually says. He dares not let his eyes travel back to Jongdae and Baekhyun, so instead, he finds Sejun. His brother is easier to look at, especially when he seems so oblivious to the rest of the atmosphere. He looks pleased, unaware of the sadness and heaviness of the air around him, and for a split second, Sehun is mad at the twinkle in his eyes, mad at the contentment on his face. He clears his throat. “Very well,” he repeats. “Now, please, you may all leave my room. I am very tired and intend to rest properly tonight.”

He hears Jongdae’s voice in his head, distant and teasing. _Spoken like a true King_. What a king.

He gestures towards his door, draws his shoulders up then looks back at Baekhyun. He is met with more anger and disgust.

“I suspect Dahlia might be worried if she does not see you tonight.”

Baekhyun pulls up his hood, a terrible smile on his face.

“I trust you know that secrecy is required for this matter,” Sehun adds. “She can take many things from you, but do believe me when I say I have the power to do even more.”

Sejun freezes on the way to the door. He turns to look at Baekhyun’s reaction. Jongdae himself has stopped moving. Sehun refuses to see the surprise in his eyes, the way he is staring at him. He only focuses on the plethora of shadows flashing through Baekhyun’s eyes. It is quite surprising that they finally seem to settle on amusement – oh, of a sick kind, undoubtedly, but still. He smiles at Sehun, all teeth and darkness.

“That, you have,” he agrees. “Future King of the men.”

Sehun accepts the title, he accepts the smirk and the coldness as though it is what he is owed, and nothing more. He does not move, does not budge when Baekhyun leaves through the window. He pretends he does not see the way his cracked fingers merge together with the darkness outside. He looks away and turns back to his brother before Jongdae starts climbing through the window as well. He fakes the indifference of a King sitting on the Red Diamond throne, where no one and nothing can reach him, because it seems better than to force himself to go through the image of Jongdae leaving, again.

“Good night, Sejun.”

Sejun looks at him and for a second, Sehun fears he went too far, because both anger and bitterness flash through his little brother’s eyes. But it’s gone before he can truly wonder about them, gone, just like Sejun’s previous intensity and nervousness. He leaves the room with careful steps, his own body stiff with formality and distance.

Sehun closes the door behind him, then shuts his eyes. He has started a countdown, and set justice to motion. And yet, he feels empty inside.

“I am sorry.” 

Sehun whirls around, surprised. Jongdae is still there, sitting on the window ledge, half of his body ready to leap out and the other half still stuck in Sehun’s room. 

“I am sorry,” he says again. “It’s… He is… you know. He comes from the mountains. _My_ mountains.” 

Sehun rests his back against his door. He nods and swipes away the tears running down his cheeks. 

“I am so angry,” he says in a whisper. 

For a short second, he thinks Jongdae will come to him, and he thinks things might get better, and maybe it'll stop burning in the back of his throat. But Jongdae watches him, sadness and sorrow on his face, and after a slow nod, he looks away then leaves into the night. Sehun closes his eyes and tilts his head back against the surface of the door. 

  
Sehun stands still in the middle of the crowd in the throne room. The sun is low and weak, but some of its rays still have made it to the Red Diamond Throne. Rather than the explosions of scarlet lights all over the room, it is a shy mix of pale red hues dancing across the floor – but it is beautiful nonetheless. Soon, winter will be too powerful and darkness too full and they’ll only get the hint of a flame within the Red Diamond throne, and only at midday. Sehun tries very hard not to see the irony in that, but he has seventeen diamonds on his jacket and the irony is heavying down on him.

On the other side of the royal throne, Sejun adjusts his own jacket. He stands before the Little Prince throne, with its sleek lines of black stone, its carefully engraved details, and Sehun feels like he is the perfect embodiment of that seat. His expressions are measured, controlled and there’s a coldness about him that feels very earthy. He hasn’t even returned Sehun’s numerous glances during the ceremony.

Today is a special day. Seventeen diamonds. His mother was seventeen years-old when she was crowned. Today will be a distant echo of that day. Servants will change the drapes, and the very same feast that was served to her as the first dinner she was to eat as a Queen is already in the work in the kitchens. The Cook is said to be in a terrible mood.

A very special day, indeed. Sehun glances at the red ribbon around his hand, then looks back at the crowd. Jongdae has not come.

He tries not to fret too hard about it – he has a Council meeting later in the afternoon he better get ready for, but it’s difficult not to feel the weight of Jongdae’s absence. People leave the throne room to go out about their day, and Sehun is left in the shadow of the Crystal Throne. The seventeen diamonds on his jacket serve as a calendar more than tokens to honour his mother. First diamond – first day with Jongdae. So little time has passed ever since his mother died, and yet, so much has changed.

“It is a beautiful day outside.”

Sehun looks up, surprised, only to find Cheng standing before him, a warm smile on his face. He has swapped his usual long tunic and loose pants for a very delicate robe of the same light purple fabric, but thickened with fur at his wrist and around his neck, to help its owner endure the harsh temperatures of winter.

“I… am not sure,” Sehun says. He frowns a little and studies Cheng’s face. He isn’t used to the latter coming to converse with him outside of official gatherings all the while being overused to his interventions in the Council room. It makes him very wary, which Cheng seems to notice, because he lets out a short chuckle.

“I am sorry, Great Prince, I did not mean to startle you. I just wanted to let you know we have received a message from Tien’s unit. They are expected to arrive within the day. She wanted to make sure we had news, so that we would not worry and send more soldiers for them.” He pauses, and his smile slightly widens. “Her messenger finished his rendition of her words with a special message for you.”

Sehun winces, and it makes Cheng laugh. He quickly controls himself however, but his smile remains wide and mischievous.

“Indeed,” he agrees “She means to tell you that she is quite content that her Great Prince was able to avoid the snowstorm that slowed them down.”

“Oh.” Sehun pauses. Cheng’s eyes still twinkle with humour and mirth and it eases him a little. “She is definitely not happy.”

Another chuckle from Cheng. “Oh, certainly not, indeed,” he agrees. “Tien is known for her strong character, but she will come around. She is a great soldier and an even greater Captain.”

He loses a bit of his mirth there, to let some of his usual seriousness peek through. Sehun can’t help but think there’s a hidden meaning in his words.

“She is,” he says. “I am sorry, I was not aware that you two knew each other.”

Cheng excuses his confessed ignorance with a slight bow of his head and another smile.

“She is a very old friend of mine. We grew up together. If I may, I will tell you this. Younger Tien was even more dedicated to her grudges. Sometimes I think she purposefully maintains this side of her so she can keep a direct link with her youth.” Another smile, although this time it is softer and less provoking than Cheng’s usual grins. Again, he looks at Sehun as though intending to say many more things that he can only hint at. “She makes a very unconventional Captain, but a really good ally for times when rules do not seem as smart as they should.”

Sehun frowns, but Cheng lets nothing shine through his composure. He nods again to end the conversation then crosses his arms before him and slips his fingers into his sleeves.

“I will see you for the Council meeting, Great Prince. I am looking forward to today’s gathering.” He bows again. “It really is a beautiful day outside,” he says again. “I have heard many people talk about a winged creature that quite agrees.”

Sehun’s heart leaps out of his chest, straight into his throat, and it turns his attempt at talking into a gurgle. Cheng smiles at him then turns away to insert himself into other groups, other conversations. Sejun has left the room already, which draws the attention of most of the remaining court members onto Sehun, so he quickly adjusts his jacket, bows at everyone looking at him, and leaves the Throne room in a hurry.

It doesn’t take him long to realise Cheng was right. He picks up a trail of hushed whispering and gossips almost as soon as he steps out of the Throne room. Then it’s just a matter of following the words and exchanges until the current brings Sehun to the outside of the keep, straight into the inner ward.

Cheng was right, it truly is a beautiful day. The sky is clear, the snow bright and, mostly, Orage is there.

“Orage,” Sehun breathes out.

He picks up the pace and leaves the cobbled path leading straight to the curtain wall and the outer ward – he leaves its slipperiness and walks straight into untouched snow. He falls deep into it and winces at the immediate burning sensation around his calves, but he keeps going anyway.

“Orage!” he calls.

Orage immediately perks up. Her eyes fall on Sehun and her ears stand up on her head. She straightens up from her sitting position in a joyous hop and lets out a singing howl that warms Sehun’s heart. He laughs at the sound of it, at its roughness and at the certainty that many people are wincing and holding on to dear life inside the castle. To him, it feels better than every fire inside the walls, so the snow be damned, he keeps going.

Orage hops again. Little yelps spill out of her throat in broken rhythm. She lifts her long tail and lays it on the snow towards Sehun. It only takes him a couple of strides to reach its fluffy tip.

“You’re so soft,” he tells Orage after burying his hands in her fur. He curls his fingers around a couple of feathers and wonders at their thickness. Yet, they feel so delicate on his skin, so warm.

“She wants to help you with the snow, you know.”

Sehun looks up, adrenaline shooting through him in a flash. Jongdae stands near Orage’s front paws, half of his outer robe covered in snow. He looks at Sehun, hesitant.

“Oh,” Sehun says. He looks up at Orage’s excited eyes. She meets his eyes, whines impatiently and lightly stampers the ground with her forelegs. Sehun chuckles. “Alright, alright. Here I go, then.”

He glances at Jongdae, suddenly self-conscious, but climbs on Orage’s tail nevertheless. Fully knowing what is about to come, he holds on as best as he can, clenching his fists around large tufts of hair. Orage drags her tail back, whisking Sehun in at the same time. His precautions end up quite useless because the sudden speed and the following abrupt stop loosen his grip. He rolls on the side, flies off Orage’s tail and expects quite the fall in the snow – but two familiar hands stop him before he sinks into it.

“Ah,” Sehun breathes out. He looks up towards Jongdae. “Thank you.”

Orage curls her tail around her, a staccato rumble shaking her chest. It sounds exactly like muffled peals of laughter, and it makes Sehun very embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” Jongdae says. He helps Sehun back onto his feet and does not let go of his hands. “Orage sometimes forgets how strong she is.”

Sehun snorts. He glares at Orage, but she has apparently decided there is nothing fun to do with him anymore, because she is now pawing through the snow to go back to her previous position. Aside from the long line left by Orage’s trail behind Sehun and the cobbled path which has been meticulously cleared of the snow, the rest of the inner ward is completely covered and the snow is immaculate. Sehun glances at the huge hole left by Orage’s body and at the soil peeking through before he draws back his attention on Jongdae.

“How long have you been there?” he asks in disbelief. 

Jongdae squeezes Sehun’s hands between his and then lets them go. Sehun’s fingers are cold.

“I am sorry I have not come this morning,” Jongdae says. “I thought… I thought you wouldn’t want me there after what happened yesterday.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

Jongdae looks into his face. The sun may be low and distant, it shines bright enough for the snow to capture its rays and deflect them all around them with much more intensity. It shines a new light on Jongdae’s face and chases every shadow lingering there. The constellations seem to be emitting their own glow, and the pupils in his eyes are thinner than Sehun has ever seen. He likes him like that, so much. Cold to the touch, colourful and in plain view.

“I will always need you,” he adds.

This seems to do more harm than good, because Jongdae’s expression crumples away. He takes back Sehun’s hand and wraps his fingers around his wrists.

“I am sorry,” he says. “I am so sorry, Sehun. I… I should have never stood against you like that, it is not what I have vowed to do. I am… I am sorry, I just…”

Sehun bares his wrists for Jongdae to take, and if the price to pay is the freezing bite of winter getting under his clothes, then so be it.

“I am sorry too,” he says. Jongdae’s fingers are slipping under his sleeves, grabbing and melting away any warmth from the castle left. He shivers. “I… I suppose I just do not understand. But I think… I think you’ve tried to tell me before.”

Jongdae looks into his face.

“You are lonely,” Sehun continues. He steps closer to Jongdae, eager to feel more of him.

“I was,” Jongdae agrees. He pulls his hands away then rolls down Sehun’s sleeves. “I was, yes.”

“I will never understand what you have with Orage. I will never understand where you come from, what kind of magic you are made of. I just don’t, Jongdae. I try very hard, because it’s beautiful and you are so special, but I am not… I am not made to understand that. Baekhyun…” Ah, how much this costs him. “Baekhyun is your only link to all of this. He may hate me and probably be quite mad that he will not get to kill me, he still knows what it’s like to fly over the clouds and live high up in the mountains, and he knows what the stars sound like. He is a piece of home.” Sehun gulps. “Stanvaeld… it has never been your home, only mine. I want you to know that I at least understand that.”

Jongdae lets out a low groan. He cups Sehun’s face in his hands and his palms are so cold, but so soft. They hold so much power – he stopped a sword with them, birthed fire with them, and healed a Lady, a Queen, somewhere far from here – but they’re so soft and delicate when they touch Sehun. He knows that delicacy, he recognises it, and when they gently force him to lean over, Sehun gives in without an ounce of hesitation.

Jongdae kisses him on his forehead, between his brows, soft and cold, powerful and gentle. His lips linger on Sehun’s skin, forcing a bloom onto its paleness. Sehun’s hands dig into Jongdae’s waist and his breath dies out in the back of his throat. It doesn’t hurt when Jongdae pulls away, because he does it little by little. His mouth is gone, but he runs a hand through Sehun’s hair and when it eventually has to go as well, his fingers brush the side of Sehun’s jawline, and it sends long-lasting shivers down his spine. It doesn’t hurt to see Jongdae pulling away, but it does to imagine letting him go, so Sehun reaches out before Jongdae fully steps away and he pulls him in. He wraps his arms around him and holds him close. Jongdae hugs him back, his breath raising a trail of goosebumps in the crook of Sehun’s neck.

“You don’t understand because you don’t know,” Jongdae says, and Sehun’s arms tighten around him to feel him so close. “But I would like to show you… if you’ll allow me, I would like to show you tonight.”

Sehun nods. He stares at the expanse of snow behind Jongdae, at the high contrast between it and the bottom of the keep walls. White snow against black stones. He nods again, for good measure, then closes his eyes. Jongdae smells like the air above the clouds – he smells like the clouds themselves, and when Sehun buries his face in his hair, he catches a hint of snowstorm. 

He hears more than he sees Orage shifting. Her body throws darkness over them and for a few seconds, it paints everything in Sehun’s sight in shades of greys – snow, black stones, everything is smoothed out. She plops down on the snow behind them and close enough that they can feel the snowflakes she whipped up fall back down all over them. Sehun feels Jongdae’s smile against his collarbone, a true testament to the thinness of his jacket and it makes him want to press Jongdae harder against his chest, to try and feel everything, but before he can inevitably give in to the urge, Jongdae slowly pulls away.

He looks up just as Sehun looks down.

“I did not mean to make it seem like I did not care about Baekhyun’s creature, you know,” Sehun says. “I do. I care. I really do, Jongdae.”

Jongdae smiles, soft and fragile. “But he killed your mother.”

It’s not a question, not even an accusation. It is just what it is. Sehun may care, and he may do it with as much sincerity as he can muster, Baekhyun will always be the man with the yellow coat, and the cursed magic spilling from his fingers will always be what ended Sehun’s mother’s life.

Sehun straightens, and what was left of their embrace is swept away by the cold, quiet wind of winter.

“Did I give you enough time? Will you really be able to find his creature before I have to move against Dahlia?”

Jongdae nods. Behind them, Orage blows air through her nose, sending slightly warmer air their way and lifting a new wave of snow all around them. Just as Sehun turns around to look at her, she drags her tail closer to her body and leaves it in a perfect curl before her, right around Jongdae and Sehun. If he didn’t know any better, he would think she is eavesdropping – her eyes are closed but her breathing isn’t regular enough for her to be asleep. Both the gracious offer of her tail for them to sit on, and the angle of her body in this new position which hides them away from anyone coming and out of the keep feel like very conscious choices. Sehun draws back his attention on Jongdae with a questioning look.

“Ah, she missed you,” Jongdae says with a little smile. He sits down on the tail and mindlessly fluffs up the hair around him. “She was quite angry at me, too.”

“I missed her too.”

Sehun mimics Jongdae, although he sits down with much less spontaneity. It baffles him to realise his cautious movements are not the results of any legitimate fears – Orage _is_ a magical creature with jaws wide and strong enough that she could cut a very large man in two after all – but they rather come from a place of honest care about her. He doubts his weight could hurt her, but it’s the idea that he could be bothering her that he finds troublesome.

“You didn’t have to, and I didn’t… I didn’t see that, at first,” Jongdae says. Sehun looks up from the stiffest sitting position he’s ever had his life to find Jongdae watching him with very dark eyes. They stand out against the snow. “I knew I had gone too far and I knew I hurt you, but when you gave us your plan yesterday, I got angry too. I thought… I thought you had decided that Baekhyun’s creature didn’t matter.” He pauses, then adds, regrets heavy on his voice. “I have fought in enough wars to know that sometimes, you have to accept to lose something so that you can win the battle. I thought you had decided that Baekhyun had to lose for you to succeed.”

It did cross his mind – of course it did. It did more than that even. There were moments when Sehun was growing numb on his chair, and his mind was reeling on the possibility of waiting Dahlia by the entrance and killing her right there. He considered it with way too much eagerness for him to admit it to Jongdae, but he saw himself very clearly. He would have let Baekhyun’s fate rest in the merciless hands of the deities. He would have done it.

“But you gave us time,” Jongdae continues. “I really did feel Astre yesterday. Baekhyun riding with me helped, because I can use his link to his companion. He is very weak, but still. I am almost sure I heard the echo of his magic yesterday. Astre isn’t far. I know it. You gave me plenty of time to find him.”

“He was with you the whole day?” 

Jongdae nods, his eyes eluding Sehun. 

“He is too weak to be of any threat on his own. Dahlia just wants to see him in the mornings and evenings, but the rest of the time… if she has no use for him, she completely leaves him be.”

Sehun hums. He wants to spill poison and bitterness and rejoice in the helplessness and pain Dahlia is cultivating within Baekhyun, but that would just be…

“It’s cruel,” he says.

Jongdae leans over the little space left between him and Sehun to grab his hand. His fingers start pulling at the red ribbon as soon as he catches it. 

“You are one of a kind, my King,” Jongdae ends up saying, his whole focus on the red ribbon. He forms a loop with it and slides it around Sehun’s index finger, and Sehun bends his finger a little so that it catches Jongdae’s hand.

“You are the special one,” Sehun immediately says with a little smile, although it threatens to fade away, carried away by the seriousness in his tone. “I have met another one of your kind, and yet…” He does not quite know how to finish his sentence. Jongdae looks at him as if it doesn’t matter, as if starting it was enough, and it burns through Sehun’s chest. He clears his throat. “I feel like I should apologise to Baekhyun, now.”

Jongdae snorts. “Oh, I would very much like to see it.”

“I wish he didn’t hate me,” Sehun says on a whim, because it sounds better than admitting he wishes _he_ didn’t hate Baekhyun. It is the kind of things Jongdae would do, the kind of wording that would come easily to him.

“It is not you he hates,” Jongdae answers. He hesitates, his eyes lingering on Sehun’s fingers then he looks up with a sad, sad smile. “Baekhyun… Baekhyun is complicated.” A pause, a lighter smile. “He is actually quite the special one too.”

“Then I wish I had the patience to try to understand him.”

“I don’t think he would let you. You have lost your mother, and yet… I am not sure it could help you understand what we feel when we are kept away from our companions.” He worries at his bottom lip. “He has associated this pain and his missing magic with your kind, and I am afraid he will never be able to see beyond it.”

“My kind,” Sehun repeats, testing the word and its weight on his tongue, and he finds it bitter, too thick and dense to swallow.

Jongdae watches him, but he does not say anything. With the ribbon completed, he goes to take Sehun’s second hand. He gathers them in his and starts rubbing them together, like one would to make a fire and already, warmth spreads over Sehun’s fingers. Sehun locks his hands in his after a few seconds. Jongdae looks up, surprised.

“You should still tell him,” Sehun says. “Tell him I am sorry for what Dahlia has done to him. She has done terrible things to me as well.” He tightens his grip on Jongdae’s hands. “Will you tell him? I will do everything I can to help him.”

Jongdae chuckles. He pulls his hands away and slips them in his own sleeves.

“I am not even sure _I_ can help him,” Jongdae admits, and for someone as powerful as he is, it lacks power, it lacks depth. His eyes flicker on the side before they come back to meet Sehun’s. _This is how towers crumble_ , Sehun thinks. It starts at the bottom, at the base of it all, and it flakes away, little by little, until it all falls apart. “There is something you could do to help Baekhyun and I today, though.”

“Anything,” Sehun immediately says.

It earns him Jongdae’s special smile, the one that blooms in secrecy and for Sehun only.

“I will fly with Baekhyun this afternoon, during the Council meeting. I want to make use of every minute of daylight I can get, so…”

“You need me to keep Dahlia busy,” Sehun says with a sly smile. “It is gonna be a long meeting anyway. I intend to tell them about the diplomatic visits to Burgh and Marisk this afternoon. It is bound to wreak havoc. And you know how my kind is, so prompt to engage in fights but quite slow when it comes to working it out.”

“Alright,” Jongdae says with a chuckle. “Your kind, then, will be very helpful today.” His eyes travel across Sehun’s face quickly and his smile widens. “You will be very helpful.”

Sehun snorts, amused. He shoves his hands under his arms and looks up to the sky. The clouds are higher than they have been the past few days, and lighter. Sunlight easily pierces through them, and yet, it all seems feeble and unsure. The wind has risen up again – with shy little gusts for now, but they carry the undeniable thickness of more cold and ice coming their way. There are a few snowflakes whirling around above their heads, messengers of very dark days ahead. Somewhere in the north, winter is raging on and it is coming for them soon.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Orage nap so close to the keep before,” Sehun says. He blinks away from the sky and glances at Jongdae, also lost in his own admiration of the clouds.

“This was as close to you as I could be without you seeing me.” A snowflake lands on the corner of his mouth, and Jongdae licks it away before drawing his focus on Sehun. “It is a special day.”

Sehun watches him. Seventeen diamonds, seventeen years in his mother’s life. She walked to the Red Diamond Throne when she was seventeen and she sat on it for the very first time. The crown was heavy, but she wore it without flinching. There are a few songs about that day – Sehun cannot remember the exact lyrics.

“So they say,” he says.

Jongdae smiles at him.

“She was twenty seven when we first met. I was eight and very scared. _That_ was a special day.”

“I don’t think I remember the day you arrived,” Sehun says regretfully. “You were young, that I remember. And you were very small, but I was jealous because you could go out when you wanted while I was to stay with my tutors.”

Jongdae smiles widens. “Oh, you were even smaller. You had so many questions, and you used to follow me around, thinking you were so discreet I could not see you. Those were special days too.”

Flashes pass through Sehun’s mind. Distant shapes and silhouettes, and yes, maybe an aftertaste of excitement from long ago. The boy with the feathers in his hair was never easy to find, but Sehun was dedicated and quite obsessed.

“I think I remember Mother scolding me about that. She told me you were not different from the other children in the castle and that I should remember my manners,” he says with a chuckle.

“And you believed her,” Jongdae adds. It feels much more precious in his mouth than it did in Sehun’s memories. “Very special days indeed.”

Sehun chuckles again. Jongdae smiles, wide and secretive, then lays out a hand between them, palm facing the sky, and Sehun gets to watch some snowflakes land on his skin. He gets to watch them stay there, beautiful and so small, completely preserved by the cold coursing through Jongdae’s veins, and it makes his own shivers so much easier to endure. He watches the little bump forming in the palm of Jongdae’s hand, winter nesting at his fingertips, and he tries to remember Jongdae’s first days within the castle. The two-year long war against the Other World had just finished. His father had died at its beginning and Jongdae’s predecessor died during the final battle. Jongdae arrived in Stanvaeld a few days later – a small bump riding a creature that was already bigger than two stallions. He tries to remember his hair. His clothes. How accentuated his voice must have been. He tries to remember whether Jongdae used to run in the corridors or simply walk through them. He tries so hard while watching Jongdae as he is right now, and he curses the weakness of his memory.

Jongdae eventually spreads his fingers and lets the snow fall to the ground. His eyes crinkle up as he smiles at Sehun, and Sehun‘s heart leaps out of his chest. He scoots to the edge of Orage’s tail, his whole body throbbing with want and desire and reaches out to swipe his thumb across Jongdae’s cheekbone. Jongdae’s eyelashes brush against his skin, the constellations under his finger feel warm and delicate. Jongdae closes his eyes, and Sehun’s yearning feels evergreen. He lifts a hand to rest his fingers against the inside of Sehun’s wrist, and his touch sinks deep into Sehun’s flesh. It goes deeper than his bones, deeper than his core, to a place that belongs to black fingers and divine teeth. Sehun’s soul answers to Jongdae’s gentle touch, to the way he presses his fingers against the soft skin, the way he curls them around Sehun’s wrist. His very essence jolts to the sensation.

Sehun parts his lips and breathes out.

One day, they’ll claim him. One day, he’ll close his eyes and deities will crawl to him and devour him whole. They’ll dig through his flesh to get his soul and Sehun will laugh because they will only find want and soft fingers with midnight-blue magic within that came to reap him way before theirs, black and dead, did.

Right now, he is the one digging, though. He is hungry for more, so, so hungry.

“Today, we honour the very first day our Queen walked into this room as a Queen, and not a Great Princess anymore.”

Voices raise in unison. “To the Queen.”

Dahlia’s eyes run across the room, over the faces of the rest of the Councilmembers. She has the far-apart eyes of Frimas people, and they shine in grey hues on her long face. There are flowers tied to the ends of her cape’s cords.

“Today we honour the first of many good decisions, most importantly _right_ decisions. In her seventeenth year, the Queen walked into that very same room, and she talked about the Alliance for the very first time. She was to change our future and our lives forever.”

Her eyes are cold, closed-off. Dahlia has always been like steel – sharp and precise. She reminds Sehun of the higher lands of Stanvaeld where the weather is so unforgiving and the wind never stops blowing, but in which wild flowers still bloom, every year. He used to admire her for that, now he hates the image.

Her eyes meet his and Sehun raises his goblet.

“To the Queen,” he says, his voice drowning in the many others.

They all carry their cups to their mouths and Sehun watches, his own lips hovering over the warm spicy wine. He can taste the fullness of it without touching it, and it seeps in the back of his throat, coating his tongue and palate with its strong bouquet. Dahlia is still looking at him, and he finds the smell suddenly overwhelming and nauseating.

He puts back his goblet on the table, the wine untouched. 

“None of us were members of the Council back then,” Sun, one of the twins, says. The wine has coloured the usual pinkness of his skin with deeper tones and his freckles are standing out over his nose. “But a very important part of our history was written that day. I wish we had someone to tell us exactly how it was.”

Sun’s brother, Sook, nods approvingly. A murmur of consent travels around the table, and when it reaches Dahlia, she merely acknowledges it. Her eyes remain on Sehun, and Sehun stares back.

“Well, we had our fair share of great announcements during our days with the Queen, here,” Cheng says with a beautiful smile. Sehun knows Cheng hates warm wine – wine of any sort actually – but he has gracefully engaged in the tradition and drunk most of his cup without so much of a flinch or a wince. “Some even created just as much chaos as her alliance proposal certainly did back then.”

Sun and Sook raise their cups to that and Yao turns his round eyes to Sehun.

“And we may have more of those with her son,” he says, and he sounds delighted. “I suspect that it runs in his blood.”

Sehun has to focus all his might not to wince at that. He likes Yao, delicate Yao and his beautiful poetry, kind Yao and the street kids he likes to teach their letters to – but Yao is about to be quite disenchanted by his prediction, and sooner than he’d think.

Sehun clears his throat and folds his hands away from the cup.

“I have decided that I will not go to Burgh and Marisk.”

Yao’s smile slips from his face and silence falls over the room. It clashes with the pleasant smell of the wine floating around and the not so distant memories of their cups raising and clinking together. Sun and Sook look confused, unsure, as though expecting Sehun to declare it was all a joke and they all fell for it. Cheng, on the other hand, has immediately accepted the truth of Sehun’s words. He has processed them and is already thinking about consequences, answers and arguments. It reminds Sehun of his mother’s words about the youngest member of the Council. _He is difficult because he cares about Stanvaeld. That is why he challenges me so._ Sehun is ready to rise to the challenge.

Dahlia, on the other hand, shows nothing of her thinking. Sehun turns his eyes towards her, ready to spit fire, ready to provoke, and she holds them wordlessly, like steel against steel.

“Whatever do you mean?” Sook is the first to ask, his disbelief so obvious it makes him look a bit silly.

“I mean exactly what I just said,” Sehun says. He smiles, polite and graceful. “I will not go to Burgh and Marisk.”

Sook turns wide eyes towards his brother, and the latter shrugs – a gesture so unusual for him and so inappropriate to the room they are in that it draws everyone’s attention on Sun. He looks up, a flash of apologies in his eyes, but seems to decide quite rapidly that everyone’s attention and discontent would be much more productive if they were to be redirected towards Sehun. So he sits up and gestures at Sehun with a nod of his head. It’s aggressive, and it stings.

“What about the funeral feasts though?” he asks. “Are you not willing to honour your mother with her allies?”

Sehun faces the twin’s indignation with as much indifference as he can. Before he answers, he glances at Dahlia. She is still staring.

“I am,” he says, simply. He could make a whole speech but his goal is not to convince the Council Members. He means to make them run around like chickens. He means to make them waste time with questions and accusations. 

“Great Prince,” Yao intervenes. He glares at the twins. Yao is the second oldest, right after Dahlia, and manners are everything to him. “Pardon our incredulity. Visiting Stanvaeld’s allies to share grief and tighten bonds after the loss of a monarch is an important step of the Mourning, and it has been for centuries now. We… We struggle to see how you mean to honour the tradition if you do not intend to visit Burgh and Marisk?”

“They have stood alongside Stanvaeld,” Cheng says, quickly. Sehun turns his attention to him, ready for the beautifully worded attack. “They both have given so much to the Alliance when Frimas was threatened by the Glaciers. Marisk people value their scholars like we do the black stone in our soil, and yet they did not hesitate to redirect their efforts and studies to the creation of a potential wall between Frimas and the Glaciers. I most certainly do not need to remind everyone that Burgh people are still, to these days, bringing clothes and gifts to the soldiers keeping watch on the Great Barrier.”

Sehun blinks. Cheng’s eyes slide over him very quickly but with the faintest trace of warmth in them. Did he imagine it? Did articulate Cheng really speak and basically say _nothing_? Cheng, who everyone is so afraid of getting into an argument with, intervened just so he could blabber about facts that all of them are deeply aware of?

Sehun glances at Dahlia. She is now watching Cheng with a deep frown. It makes her look older than she is.

“It is… very true,” Sehun agrees. Cheng slightly bows to him. “Burgh and Marisk have been great allies. I do not mean my refusal to go to them to share their mourning feasts as an insult. This is why I have asked my brother, the Little Prince, to go in my stead.”

Sun and Sook fall further from manners and appropriate behaviours when they start whispering between themselves. The room isn’t big enough for their exchange to go unnoticed but if Sehun can perfectly hear the anger in their words, he misses parts of their sentences.

“…ask as in ordered….”

“…mother would have never…. Traditions…”

Sehun catches Cheng’s eyes, but no matter how hard he tries to read them, they only offer darkness to him.

“Oh, I see,” Yao eventually says. He is clearly at a loss for words and seems to struggle a lot with what Sehun has just announced – which leads him to redirect his annoyance to the twin brothers. He slaps the palm of his hand on the table and his glass spills on the side. It had barely any wine left. “Silence!”

Sun and Sook glare at him, but they sit up and turn their anger back to Sehun with fiery eyes. Sehun is not sure the deities themselves are capable of looks as burning as those.

“What about Frimas?”

Ah. There it is.  
Sehun looks at Dahlia. She sits straight and stiff on her chair, her long face cut into sharp angles by the intensity of her eyes and the muted anger pulling at the corners of her lips. What of Frimas, indeed? Her first question is one that cuts through Sehun’s skin just as effectively as her blade would have.

“Frimas?” he asks, and he enjoys the heated spark in her eyes more than he should.

“You said you did not want to go to Burgh and Marisk. But what about Frimas’ right to honour our Queen?”

Sehun tries not to look furious, he really does. But his anger is so deep it shakes him as it rises, and he cannot fight against the trembles coursing through his body, just like he can’t suppress the feeling that his heart is swelling in his chest. Adrenaline seizes his muscles, and bile burns the back of his throat. He would curse the deities right here, right now if he could, and then he’d point at Dahlia and send them to her. Oh, and he would watch. He would watch even after her screams would have died down, he would watch their bottomless mouths gorge on her rotten soul.

“I will go to Frimas myself once the Little Prince has returned,” he says, and it burns his tongue, it draws blood from his lips. His eyes sting in their sockets as he looks at her, but he stands his ground. “I have a treaty to discuss with King Ammà after all.”

Her fingers clench on the table. “It is not yours to discuss yet.”

“Great Prince Sehun has joined in the drafting of said treaty,” Cheng says. His tone is light, but tense. Sehun glances around the room. They’re all staring at him and Dahlia. “I am sure he means to discuss it with King Ammà as an active member of this Council, not as a King.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, some little voice tells Sehun to go with Cheng’s excuse. It sounds exactly like his mother did, with her accents and intonations, and it speaks only the truth. Sehun knows it is the reasonable thing to do, he feels the logic laid out all over this option, and yet he decides he simply does not care.

He is done with traditions.

“How I mean to discuss the treaty that will greatly impact my kingdom does not concern you,” he says. He means to talk with conviction, but it is his anger that pours out through his words, and it makes his voice shake and drop at the end of his sentence. He glares at Dahlia. “It already is in my power.”

She stares at him with outrage, her eyes so wide open he can see the redness of her flesh against their whites. Sun and Sook both have been shocked out of their indignation, and Yao seems to be completely frozen, unable to process what just happened. Cheng’s face is the softest of them all, although his concern is still laced with worry and a hint of stormy mood – the latter being easier to understand than the former. Had he been more prone to common sense at this moment, Sehun would have wondered, to no avail, what could be going on in this head of his.

There’s a loud knock on the double doors, quickly followed by the grating of old wood as they are dragged open. A soldier Sehun recognises but cannot remember the name of tiptoes into the room, her eyes unsure and obviously intimidated. She is young and she has probably been rebuked for it before, because she drapes herself with so much professionalism as she walks towards Sehun that it makes her look funny. She is unaware of the tension, although very thick around her, and when she stops next to Sehun’s seat, she bows like one would for the most important ceremony.

“Great Prince, Members of the Council,” she greets. She barely takes in the rest of the Council Members, but her eyes do linger on the ornamentation of the room. Sehun supposes there is beauty here he has long stopped noticing.

“You can speak,” he tells her.

She smiles, grateful and even a bit… flustered? Sehun notices the red around her ears, but she does really great at pretending she isn’t impressed by everything around her.

“Captain Tien has arrived,” she announces. “She is ready to report and will wait for your word, Great Prince.”

The soldier probably told Sehun the exact same words Tien used – he can hear it in the well-hidden bitterness of her wording. He would not put it past Tien to having picked such a young messenger for that purpose only. A seasoned soldier would have tempered down the accusatory tone of her words, and that would have ruined her effect.

“Alright,” Sehun says. He considers it for a short moment. Just standing up, announcing the end of this meeting and letting this eager soldier take him to Tien. He would have liked to see the look on Dahlia’s face at this new show of rudeness. He would have done it, if the length of this council meeting wasn’t crucial for Jongdae.

He nods and smiles at the soldier. “Thank you, soldier. You can tell Captain Tien that I will call for her as soon as possible.”

The soldier bows. When she stands up, she pauses a couple of seconds to take another look at the room. Dahlia clears her voice, and the soldier immediately turns red. Her eyes meet Sehun’s, and he smiles at her, reassuring. She nearly trips on her way out, her blush so opaque it has spread to the back of her neck, unfortunately quite visible because of her short hair. Sehun makes a mental note to ask Tien for her name.

The soldier closes the heavy doors behind her, and the breath of fresh air she had brought with her withers away.

“The Queen, your mother—” Dahlia starts.

“ _Enough!_ ”

Dahlia barely flinches at Sehun’s explosion. Of the others’ reactions, he does not know much for his eyes are fixated on the very woman who had the Queen, his mother, killed. The wood of the table feels soft, fragile, under his clenched fingers.

“My mother is dead,” Sehun says through gritted teeth. He means it as an accusation, he means it to sound exactly like it will the day Dahlia’s crimes will be revealed to the rest of the world. He means to say it as though it was to be followed by a sentence. Because it will. It will. “She’s not here anymore.”

Now, though, Sehun has to focus again. The meeting has just started and he is not willing to open discussions on Sejun leaving the castle, but he needs to buy more time. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, forces air into his lungs and waits for the boiling blood in his veins to cool down to a more bearable temperature. Heat still rises in the pit of his stomach to the rhythm of his beating heart, but he needs to be able to handle the acid.

He opens his eyes. “Now,” he says. “I would like to discuss the logistics of my brother leaving for Burgh and Marisk as soon as possible.”

Dahlia refuses to meet his eyes. She is now staring at the wall opposite her. Yao eagerly jumps on the task Sehun has offered them, immediately reaching for his quill to take notes, write names, do anything that does not imply talking about what just happened. Sun and Sook seem to have made a quiet agreement not to speak again during this meeting, and Sehun salutes their effort. He has a headache at the edge of his mind already waiting to burst in and wreck his thoughts and not having to fight with everyone will certainly help him keep his head clear. Although there is one person he would very much like to confront, but Dahlia is still not looking at him and Sehun chokes on his anger.

“When would you want the Little Prince to leave?” Cheng asks.

Sehun turns to him. He is met with careful eyes, filled with questions and confusion. He cannot answer any yet but the lack of pure rejection and hatred in those eyes feels like as good a thing as any to hold on to right now.

“As soon as possible,” Sehun says, and he knows it sounds more grateful than it should and he’s already trampled on too many codes and rules but something tells him that this is a transgression Cheng will understand. “Please,” he adds.

Cheng nods. “Alright,” he says. “Let us decide who will go with him, then.”

So they do. Mostly Sehun and Cheng, because Sun and Sook are angry, Dahlia is like molten metal, ready to turn into sharpness, ready to spill blood, and Yao only nods and hums, too busy writing with his whole body, as though moving his legs as he leans closer to the table and spreading his arms on the wooden surface will make it crystal clear that he cannot do anything else than writing and thus, his opinion should not be asked.

It takes them hours, because Sehun asks many useless questions and Cheng humours him with even longer answers. It hurts a bit to sit in the very room which saw the creation of the Alliance as a possibility, the room which held both his father and his mother, and every ruler of Stanvaeld before him, and be this Prince with absolutely no care for the Crystal Throne, for the Red Diamond one, and for every tradition claiming he should _not_ be this Prince. He tries not to wonder at what his mother would tell, how she would look at him if she knew, if she were here. He tries not to remember that in Jongdae’s world, in the very special space he occupies, his mother does know, and she does see. He knows nothing of the magic of the stars, but something tells him that no ceiling could stop them from watching, whether it is made of black stone or mud.

He glances up at some point, trying to look as apologetic as possible, just in case his mother truly is peeking down at him. Sometimes, stars burst into flames and fall down from the sky – maybe she’ll fall too. If someone can defy deities with only her anger as a weapon, it would be his mother. He almost expects the delicate shape of her eyes to be engraved in the ceiling, but he only sees the blackness of the stone and the gold filled veins that have been carved into it. He only sees the faded fresco from ancient times telling the story of how Stanvaeld came to be, he only sees what he is supposed to be honouring and worshiping.

Nothing of what he truly is, what he wants, what he refuses to accept. He ends up hating the Council room almost as much as he hates Dahlia.

He does not call for Tien, but she still comes to him. She finds him on his way to his room after dinner, warm bread heavy in his stomach, and she greets him with an ominous look. She looks tired, her eyes circled with shadows he does not remember her to carry around, but her fatigue drowns away in the formality of her armour. He finds it to be a terrible thing, how Tien, as the adult version of the girl he remembers, disappears so easily in the thickness of the metal plates on her chest and the heaviness of the fabric of the cape dragging behind her. She stops before him and greets him like she’s been taught, a hand on the hilt of her sword, the other closed and near her heart.

“Captain,” Sehun answers.

She straightens up and takes him in. It is a terrible thing, truly, and yet, there still is something in her that predates the armour and the formality. The way she looks at him, for example, as though he was not worth spending her energy for, the way she sighs, a bit dramatically, before she eventually starts talking.

“My report will be a short one,” she says. “Nothing really happened. Everyone was absolutely horrified by the weather conditions, as though it was an unusual thing to witness.” She pauses, throws another look at Sehun that he can’t quite understand, then adds, “It is winter, after all.”

Sehun does not answer at first, but she squints at him, so he hastily nods. “It is,” he agrees.

The corner of her mouth twitches, as though shaken by a smile or even a peal of laughter she refuses to let out. Her posture eases up a little and Sehun starts to relax as well.

“I have met your Beast Rider – mmh. _Jongdae_. When I arrived, I mean.” She lets go of her sword to fumble with the hem of her cape. “He told me you desire to take back sword training?”

“Did he now?” Sehun says with a smile. 

She looks at him as though she found his smile to be greatly insulting.

“He told me he was willing to teach you.” This makes her glare at everything – walls, floor, Sehun’s ever-growing smile. “But that he thought I would be a better fit, as he is not even close to my skills.”

“Oh, I see.” He nods. “It is true that you are a gifted swordswoman.”

Tien lets out a snorted chuckle that seems to surprise her as much as it does Sehun. She tries to rebuild her composure by curling her fingers around the guard of her sword again, but she is quick to let go this time, and the sigh that slips past her lips isn’t as dramatic as her previous one. It is tired, yes, but most definitely amused. She studies Sehun then shakes her head, the faintest hint of another chuckle in the back of her throat.

“I’ve always dreamed of becoming guard to the next ruler,” she says eventually. “I knew it would not be your mother because I was too young, but had I suspected…” She shakes her head, full on smiling now.

“Am I a disappointing Prince to guard?” he asks, and he means it as a light question, something to help her smile bloom even more because it is beautiful, but it scrapes against the roof of his mouth as it comes out, and he tastes blood on his tongue.

She watches with a little smile, too little, and then shakes her head.

“You have left your guards and your guests behind and decided to ride a mythical creature back home instead with a man most hate and are afraid of.”

Sehun winces. He did. He made those choices and he had the best of reasons, but he did do all those things. Then he came home and did even more.

“I am sorry,” he finally says. “I am sorry about the bad weather and the snow, I am sorry about leaving you behind.”

She smiles. She smiles with her mouth but also her eyes and even the little lines going from her nostrils to her chin. She smiles and the shadows on her skin slip away, as though suddenly unable to hang onto her.

“It is fine,” she says. Her smile widens, and Sehun finds himself mimicking her, smiling until he feels his cheek muscles strain. “I will be waiting for you on the sword training field tomorrow after lunch. Do not be late.” She turns around then freezes. “Great Prince,” she adds over her shoulder.

Sehun snorts. He watches her walk away and count how many steps she takes before bringing back her hand to the sword at her hips. She is at the end of the corridor before she does, and it makes him want to laugh. He remembers her so clearly now. She was already taller than he was, and when she fought with her sword, it looked like her whole body was made of metal, it looked like she was the blade and the weapon in her hand was just a continuation of her being. She had no cape, no armour, just a dream that would later change everything about her.

Sehun hastily climbs the stairs that lead to the royal wing. It is dark outside, quiet. There was heaviness in the sky when the sun was setting, and the horizon line was low and solid, but it was still clear above the Stanvaeld castle. There were talks during dinner about going out for a last night stroll before the impending snowstorms inevitably lock them all inside the keep and it was decided that some stargazing would be involved, to honour the memory of a crowning day so many years ago, when a seventeen years old walked to the Red Diamond throne and became a legend in the history of Stanvaeld.

Sehun has other plans.

They looked at him with disapproval as he rushed out of the room and he barely noticed.

He bursts through his door, closes the latch and whirls around to face the coldness in his room and its darkness, the fire in the hearth long gone. Wind is blowing through his things – letters, clothes, tapestries and drapes. The wood panel meant to keep winter from entering through his window has been put on the ground.

Jongdae is sitting on the window ledge, his back facing the sky and his legs dangling over Sehun’s bedroom floor. Sehun smiles.

“Have you found him?”

Jongdae shakes his head, but he is smiling too. “Not yet,” he says. “But I got even closer today. I think even Baekhyun felt him.”

Sehun nods. He takes in all of Jongdae. The red ribbon in his hair and the wild strands framing his face, the ease in his position despite being only a couple of inches away from a deadly fall, the curl of his lips, the twinkle in his eyes. Sehun’s insides grow warm and they disregard the dinner he just ate to clench in hunger instead.

“How was your day?” Jongdae asks, his own eyes heavy on Sehun.

“Awful.”

Jongdae chuckles. He lifts an arm and offers his hand to Sehun, who does not bother trying to hide his impatience as he rushes to it. He takes it in his two hands, covers it with his fingers and walks into Jongdae’s personal space without hesitation. Jongdae welcomes in with another one of his smiles.

“I had an interesting conversation with Tien, just now.”

“Oh, really?”

Sehun snorts. He pulls on Jongdae’s hand, forcing him to lean down and their shoulders bump. Jongdae has to lay his second hand on Sehun’s arm to keep his balance on the window ledge.

“She really liked that you admitted her superiority in sword fighting,” Sehun says. Jongdae’s face is so close that he can feel the warmth of his own breath bounce back on Jongdae’s cheek and he considers brushing Jongdae’s skin with the tip of his nose to see if his words left any warmth there.

“I knew she would, and it was all part of my plan. It is common knowledge that I am in fact better than all of you.”

Jongdae tilts his head towards Sehun with a little smile. This forces Sehun to slightly pull away so he can still look at him in the eyes.

“Mighty One,” he agrees with a nod.

It earns him a terribly drawn-out eye roll and a shake of Jongdae’s head, and Sehun pretends to laugh it off as though he hadn’t said those words with every ounce of seriousness he is able to muster.

“Are you ready?” Jongdae asks, and Sehun frowns. “I have to show you something. Hold on to me.” 

Last time, Sehun was thrown out of the window, which was a terrible thing to live. He still remembers how the sky and the ground mixed in one, terrifying harsh surface coming at him before Orage’s tail wrapped around him. This time, he decides to go with Jongdae’s intentions rather than to question them, hoping that this will save him from the terror of free falling again. Jongdae chuckles at the misery on Sehun’s face then gestures at him to climb through the window as he shifts to a straddling position. He pats the wood before him and helps Sehun slip one leg then the other over it, his fingers clenching around Sehun’s.

There’s emptiness beneath Sehun’s feet again. It’s as strong as he remembers it to be, and it’s reaching out with freezing fingers. He can feel them curling around his ankles.

“Do not look down,” Jongdae says, so close to his ear.

Sehun looks at him instead, and it makes Jongdae smile. His eyes seem to be flowing, like the surface of a young stream up in the mountainside. The blackness of his irises isn’t as smooth and regular as one would expect, and between highlights and splinters of darker colour, they light up, little by little, until Sehun is staring at eyes of the same colour than the sky above their heads: neither black, neither blue, and yet a little bit of both.

“One more thing.”

Jongdae keeps a steady hand on Sehun’s hip as he leans back into the room. He blindly gropes for something on the wall next to the window until a satisfied grin works its way on his face. Sehun feels the tension traveling through his muscles when he pulls and almost falls over as ruckus explodes in his room.

“By the deities, Jongdae!”

Jongdae sits up, an innocent smile on his face. He pulls out the heavy drape that serves as a curtain, takes out and drops back into the room the metal bar that was still attached to the wall a few seconds earlier.

“You might get cold,” he says in lieu of an explanation. He unfolds the drape and wraps it over Sehun’s shoulders. “I have seen you freeze to death before and that was enough for me.”

“I was not freezing to death.”

Jongdae dismisses him with another one of his eye rolls, mocking and full of judgment. He scoots closer and slips the leg he has dangling outside between Sehun’s while shoving his arm under Sehun’s.

“Hold on to me,” he says. Sehun is already holding on, already pressed against him. “Very well. Orage, honey, lift us up, will you?”

Ah, that, Sehun already saw before. Knowing exactly what is about to happen, he leans over to take a look at the roof. He only sees Orage’s front paws and then her tail as she uncurls it and lets it slide over the edge. Jongdae holds on to it with one hand, his other arm around Sehun’s torso. He forces him even closer then uses the leg he has between Sehun’s to get him off the window ledge. Their bodies fall together naturally, with Jongdae’s securing Sehun’s as he leaves the window behind. Sehun tightens his legs around Jongdae’s, puts an arm around his shoulders and grabs a handful of Orage’s feathers with his free hand. She wraps the end of her tail around their waists and when she feels she can start moving, she hoists them up to the roof.

Sehun spends the few seconds it takes them to reach the roof staring at Jongdae’s lips, only a few inches away from his, and burning through every place they are touching. He would sell his soul to the deities right here, right now, if it meant they would grant him the courage to lean in and kiss Jongdae. Let the black fingers reap him away, but let him steal that kiss as first, and all would be well.

“You can let go now, Sehun.”

Sehun blinks away, confused. He looks down and realises Orage has lifted her tail over the roof and is patiently waiting for him to untangle himself. Jongdae has let go of him for the most part: he only has his arm still around his torso to save him from the very embarrassing fall he would have had to endure otherwise.

“Oh, sorry.”

Sehun quickly pulls away from Jongdae’s grip. He means to slide down Orage’s tail as gracefully as possible, just to have a chance to reclaim his dignity, but Orage’s tail is mostly soft feathers. He loses his grip as soon as Jongdae lets go of him and ends up falling backwards and landing on his butt. The shock forces a groan out of him.

“Are you alright?” Jongdae asks after jumping down next to him, grace and beauty personified and Sehun has to laugh. So he does. He nods and accepts Jongdae’s help to get back on his feet, still chuckling.

Jongdae looks like he isn’t sure how to take it. Orage looks like she thinks Sehun is the stupidest human she has ever met, but maybe there is a hint of affection in her glowing eyes, so Sehun will accept the judgement.

“I am sorry,” he says again. His smile has died down a bit, but there still is something pulling at his lips. It’s warm and comfortable, and Sehun refuses to question it too much. “I think I will never get better with her. I am just… too human, I suppose.”

Jongdae smiles. “You are painfully human, that I can agree with.”

Sehun frowns, but Jongdae presses his index finger against his mouth to stop him from asking. He takes Sehun’s hand and leads him to the tip of the tower roof. The rest of the royal wing spreads a few feet beneath them, black stone bricks disappearing into the night, but the tower rises higher. Moonlight has touched it first and so the black stone glows already, faint and flickering, but it’s there. The roof tiles are made of slate which makes them completely unaware of the magic around them, but they’re dark enough that light glides upon them and paints them with highlights Sehun cannot stop staring at. They’re slippery to walk upon, coated with ice and some even still supporting patches of thin snow, but Jongdae’s fingers are strong around Sehun’s. He does not even trip.

“I left home and came here when I was eight,” Jongdae says once they’ve reached the centre of the roof. Orage has sat down on her back legs next to them and her silhouette merges with the distant shadows of the mountain range. She has curled her tail close, folded her wings and is now busy watching the night sky with a quiet focus Sehun has never seen on her. “It was almost twenty years ago, and yet, it sometimes feels like I left just yesterday.”

He is watching the mountains, his eyes clouded with their own shadows. Sehun scoots closer.

“You must miss it terribly.”

“I do,” Jongdae agrees with a short nod. He turns to face Sehun. “Baekhyun left only three years ago. The things he told me, Sehun… The friends I had back then have families now. Some have become parents. My parents… My parents are dead. The mountains are still growing, we are still flying and singing, and many more cave walls have been painted. Baekhyun… Baekhyun made a terrible mistake when he decided to go explore the world. There is no place like home. His decision has taken him everything.”

Sehun adores the details seeping through Jongdae’s words. He likes that Jongdae just offers them to him as though Sehun was in possession of every bit of knowledge required to fully see what picture Jongdae is drawing for him. He hates how elusive they are though, he hates those hints of treasures he cannot go after, and he hates that they seem to sadden Jongdae to no end.

“I think I have never heard of another Beast Rider leaving the mountains before,” Sehun says in a tentative voice, because he feels like asking more questions would only draw blood. Yet, there is something about Baekhyun’s name that always soothes Jongdae’s face and Sehun decides it matters not if it awakens the lava in his blood.

“Because we do not leave the mountains. Ever,” Jongdae says. He glances at the distance, then looks back at Sehun. “I told you I wanted to help you understand, so I will. I will tell you everything, and what you cannot understand, I will show you.”

Sehun frowns, searching through Jongdae’s midnight sky eyes. He tries not to look too eager and probably fails miserably, because Jongdae smiles then grabs his shoulders to turn him towards Orage. Sehun has to crane his neck to take in all of her, and once he does, he lets out a sudden gasp, his heart jumping in the back of his throat.

Her eyes are shining, milky white like raw diamonds, and her attention is worlds away. He could bump into her and she would not budge, because her mind is entirely too focused on the sky above them. There’s a crystalline sound in the air, faint and distant, that was never meant to be heard by his ears, and yet, here he is. Standing next to a creature of legend while she talks to the stars in a language he will never be able to master. Far above his head, even higher than the land of the deities, the stars are looking down and they’re answering, sharing words and knowledge. It’s all falling down on Orage, tiniest specks of light whirling down to her, travelling through clouds and so much of the sky until they fall onto her eyes and melt in their glow.

“By the deities,” Sehun breathes out, and he wonders what the deities themselves are saying in their patch of night sky. Who are they cursing to as stardust falls through their land, completely unattainable and out of reach from their black fingers? “Jongdae…”

Jongdae’s fingers press against the inside of Sehun’s wrist, sending warmth up his arm that would make the sun jealous. Sehun swallows then turns his head towards him. There is hunger in his eyes he understands so clearly it takes his breath away, because it is the very first time he looks at Jongdae and sees something he can grasp.

“Let’s sit,” Jongdae says.

He takes the time to readjust the drape over Sehun’s shoulders before gesturing at him to sit down. Sehun obliges and Jongdae takes place at his side, his fingers still wrapped around Sehun’s wrist. It is cold, the kind of cold that forecasts even more cold, but it’s dry at least and it feels almost good against Sehun’s skin. For now.

“I have told you about the stars. I have told you where Orage comes from, but I haven’t…” Jongdae starts. His voice trails on and he seems to search for his next words, his face all scrunched up by the effort. “I have read the few books you have about us when I was younger, and I never tried to read more of them. I was missing home so much. Everything was so different here. Your words, your food… People were not even looking at me. So I found those books in the Queen’s study and I read them, and they were awful.”

Heat spreads over Sehun’s cheeks. He knows exactly which books Jongdae is talking about, because he read them a few times when he was younger. They seemed to hold so many secrets he was eager to find out more about.

Jongdae probably reads some of his embarrassment over his face, because he lets out a short chuckle and it smoothes out the wrinkles on his face.

“Do no fret, my King. You have not written them and it would be foolish for me to hold them over your head. They are just old books. But they are wrong books and they made me feel even more alone back then.”

“I am sorry,” Sehun says.

Jongdae smiles. He pulls the drape lower on Sehun’s arm and secures his hand between his palms.

“You have songs and legends about the first Beast Rider who came to your kingdom,” he says eventually. “It is a commonly told story, because it is one that makes you proud. This tale of a Queen from ancient times meeting a creature they had never seen back then and helping him out of the kindness of her heart. It is a very beautiful story.”

“It was my favourite when I was little,” Sehun agrees with a nod. “The Queen was exploring new woods with her army when she found a winged beast partially stuck under a landslide. It had apparently fallen from the mountain side and mud and rocks were pinning it to the ground and hurting it even more with every attempt it was making at wriggling out.”

Jongdae nods. “And there was a man with the creature, with strange eyes and stars tattooed on his skin, and he asked the Queen and her soldiers for help. He told them that they had enough arms to dig his friend out of the dirt.”

“But the soldiers did not like him. He spoke with a different accent and wore different clothing. They told the Queen they would rather go back to the castle. It was dangerous to continue on this road, as it had obviously been weakened by the many weeks of rain that had just passed. The Queen knew they were right, and she refused to endanger her men like that, so she told them to leave. But she stayed.”

“She stayed,” Jongdae repeats with a little smile. “And she helped the man. Together, it took them three days and three nights to pull his companion free. The man then told her he was the mightiest warrior of a tribe up in the mountain and that he would fly her back home to thank her – and he did. He felt so thankful that he offered to help her kingdom fight in the war that was then threatening her land. What she had done for him was of the highest value and he blessed her heart, blessed her blood. He swore the mightiest of his people would always stand next to her kin to protect them, and it has been so ever since.”

Sehun can’t help but smile. It is a longer story when told with every detail they are aware of, and he used to love it so much. The Queen won the war thanks to her new friend, but many more wars came after that one, and the Beast Rider never left her side. He saw the love she had for her small kingdom as an echo of the one he had for his creature, and decided to do for her exactly what she had done for him. He helped her as she dug out Stanvaeld from dust and rocks and she made sure he was safe with her.

It’s a beautiful story.

“The Beast Rider was called Junmyeon,” Jongdae says. “And he is the first of our kind to have ventured outside our lands. There are plenty of magical creatures in the world. Just like humans, some are peaceful while others worship more violent ways.”

“Like the Glaciers,” Sehun says with a nod.

Jongdae smiles in acknowledgment. “What you call the ancient times made for a very different age. There was an empire of men on the east, but the kingdoms now part of the Alliance were very young back then, some merely dwellings and makeshift towns. Junmyeon was the mightiest warrior. His magic was endless and his bond with the stars was strong.”

Baekhyun’s voice echoes in Sehun’s mind. _Best of the best._

“One day, Junmyeon decided to fly down the mountainside because he was curious, and that is when he met your Queen. Our stories differ there. She had no army at her side. She was a leader but hardly a queen, for the crown on her head was made of twigs and flowers and leaves. Stanvaeld had no castle yet and royalty had started with her. They met in the forest at the foot of the mountain and had such a nice time that he came back the day after. So did she. They talked a lot. Junmyeon told her about the piece of land he had seen from the sky. He told her about the rivers and the forests, and she led her people wisely, secured a beautiful piece of land and named it Stanvaeld because the richness of its soil was endless. Our story is as long as yours, and it does involve wars, but those came after. They came after Jumyeon and your Queen fell in love.”

“What?”

Jongdae smiles, a soft, gentle smile that feels more precious than it should. He rubs the back of Sehun’s hand with his.

“They fell in love,” he repeats. “They would talk everyday. Junmyeon was mighty and our tale says he had found his better half in her. She was powerful, although her power lied in her words and decision making, not in what she could conjure with her mind. Stanvaeld became a real kingdom under her reign, and it sparked jealousy in the heart of other rulers. Wars started, as wars always do when men live together, and Junmyeon realised that if he wanted to keep his Queen safe, he had to fight alongside her soldiers. So he did. He talked to the stars, and used his love and power to help her win. More wars came. They won together.”

“She ended up losing,” Sehun says in a whisper.

Jongdae stares into his face, and Sehun finds it a little harder to breathe. She is a legend, the Queen of Queens, founder of Stanvaeld. There is a popular song about her that depicts her as a young woman standing naked in front of deities who had never even considered any human before. But she took her strength to them and laid it bare on the ground for them to see. She said _’Here is what I have and if you deem it worthy, you shall have it when I am dead’_. The song says the deities instantly loved her and for a chance to hold her soul after her death, they offered her the black stone. She was to love them in her life for them to love her in her death.

She died at a very young age, slayed by her enemies on a battlefield. It is another song – a very sad one.

“She did,” Jongdae eventually says with a little nod. He looks sad. “She fell, her body broken and torn apart, and her last breath she saved for Junmyeon. She asked him to protect her son, the future ruler of Stanvaeld, and Junmyeon promised he would. He was heartbroken but he swore that nothing would ever happen to her lineage. She died in his arms and I supposed he died in hers, in a way. But he had made a promise he was intent on keeping. Stanvaeld won that war too, and Junmyeon stood by her son’s side as they put a golden crown on his head. When he died, another one came to take his place, because he had made a promise, and he had written it in the stars.”

Jongdae keeps his mouth open, as though wanting to add something, but silence is what eventually finishes his story. His fingers are so tight around Sehun’s that Sehun cannot feel his anymore but he wouldn’t pull away for anything in the world.

“He was our mightiest warrior,” Jongdae says – no, whispers. “And his love was pure and bright, like his magic. When he died, he took his due place amongst the stars. I have told you about the stars before.”

Again, he looks at Sehun, filled with expectations that Sehun will understand exactly what he means, what he is telling him.

“You think he is still up there, somewhere?” Sehun asks after a few seconds, hesitant. He glances at the constellations above their heads but his attention is quickly swept away by Orage. He finds the spectacle of her quiet exchange much more beautiful than the bright gemstones up in the sky.

“He might,” Jongdae agrees with a little smile. Sehun feels like he asked the right question for once. “Or he might have grown wings long ago and lived his second life as a companion to one of us. But it does not matter. He made a promise, and it lives outside of time.”

Sehun hums. Baekhyun’s voice erupts in his mind, once again. It is angrier, and it burns, but his words hold a new meaning now, and Sehun feels like he might be a step closer to a full understanding. _“Your beautiful, fragile Prince would have died and you would have been free, best of the best.”_

“Baekhyun sees this promise as a terrible thing, doesn’t he?” Sehun asks. “He does not think you are free, not while I live.”

Jongdae sighs, a plethora of emotions flashing through his eyes. They are a tad lighter than they were when he first started talking, but the difference is barely noticeable. The change in his expression is much heavier. It started on his lips, as most of his expressions do, in their corners, and it bloomed over his face. Sehun reads a hint of confusion, but there is also annoyance, sadness and regret.

“He should not have said that. It was very wrong of him. Your… you dying would not do anything for me.”

“Because you would then be tied to my brother,” Sehun says with a nod.

Jongdae shakes his head, his eyes dead serious. “No, because part of me would die too.”

He lowers his head and glances at Sehun’s hand between his and his fingers tighten around his wrist. Sehun feels them press a bit tighter against his skin, as though they were about to lift his hand. Jongdae leans over and the ghost of a kiss he does not press on Sehun’s fingers is swept away by the light breeze between them. He closes his eyes with a slight smile before drawing back his attention on Sehun.

“Baekhyun resents Junmyeon’s legacy in a way that would definitely be considered like treachery amongst my people,” he says. “It just… It does not happen. We don’t question it, we just understand it. The thought of… the thought of the pain he would feel if he ever was to come back and find out we have stopped caring for the children of his loved one… It is simply too cruel.”

“But he would not know,” Sehun blurts. Jongdae stares and warmth tickles Sehun’s cheeks. “You … you told me Orage did not remember her previous life. Junmyeon wouldn’t either, would he?”

Jongdae smiles. Sehun is caught in the process of it – the curl of his lips, the crinkles mapping the skin around his eyes, the constellations shrinking down and scrunching up.

“You remember,” Jongdae says. He scoots even closer, directly thrusting himself into what’s left of Sehun’s warmth. It empties Sehun’s lungs and he gasps for air but only gets a whiff of Jongdae’s scent. Jongdae looks painfully aware of it as he lets go of Sehun’s wrist to instead adjust the fabric around his neck. “Junmyeon was very powerful,” he then says. “He could remember. He could remember her.”

“Uh,” Sehun breathes out. _I would_ , he almost says. “Why are our stories so different?” he asks instead. 

Jongdae shrugs.

“I do not think they were at first. My guess is… time. It seems to leave a deeper mark for your people than mine.” He stops then cheekily adds, “Also, glory. Your kind sure loves to feel glorious. The Queen of your story has such a big heart. She is already royal and kind and wise. The woman in mine is so very young and unsure, but she grows into her power and wisdom.”

Sehun snorts. “It sure makes for less epic songs.”

Jongdae chuckles. Sehun can hear it but he also can feel it start from Jongdae’s chest then sink through the drape to come and brush against Sehun’s skin. 

“It does,” Jongdae says.

Sehun stares at him. He likes the story about Junmyeon and that young woman much better. It seems more realistic to him, far more realistic than the hatred and disgust following Jongdae around. He can picture it so clearly – the sun filtering through the foliage and the golden aspect of the trees, the impressive height of the mountain above the young woman’s head as her only companion during her exploration… What did Junmyeon look like? Was he tall, or small, like Jongdae? Sehun imagines him to be exactly like Jongdae, with wildness in his hair and posture. Dark eyes and dark hair, night sky spreading over his cheekbones… Of course she fell in love. That forest must have looked like a magic temple, and he had to be like a god under the flickering rays of sunlight, and she probably did not even realise she could not avoid loving him.

“It must have been terrible,” he says, pictures of a faceless woman and an incorporeal man flashing through his mind. “When you arrived in Stanvaeld and found only fear and disgust.” 

Jongdae slowly shakes his head. “I knew what to expect. The stars had told us I was to be the next one. My people have strong magic but mine…” He frowns, obviously disliking having to brag about it, and Sehun playfully bumps their shoulders. “I knew what to expect,” Jongdae repeats. “We do not fly down our mountains. Your kind has not always been nice to magical beings, and we have learned to fear you for our sake. Many of our warriors have died in Stanvaeld, and they are amongst the stars now. If their voices are lost forever, their knowledge is not. I knew what to expect.”

He smiles, fragile and fleeting, and gently shoves Sehun in answer.

“Hatred and disgust were not all that was waiting for me. Your mother welcomed me with open arms. I was only eight years old. I thought I would have much more time at home, but the war took the one before me away and my time had suddenly come.” The pain in Jongdae’s eyes is raw and unfiltered, but so is the warmth. They both emerge from the depth in his irises, strong and complete. “I had to say goodbye to my own mother, but I found an echo of her love in the Queen. She raised me and protected me as best as she could.” He nods to himself. “I quickly understood why our mighty ancestor had fallen in love with a human eons ago. If my Queen even remotely resembled his, I could not blame him. Your mother was kind and brave, Sehun. She gave me many things, but hatred and disgust never were amongst them.”

“I am glad then,” is all Sehun manages to say.

Jongdae smiles again. He puts his hand on the back of Sehun’s neck and leans into him so that their foreheads are pressed together. Sehun closes his eyes as he lays his own hand on Jongdae’s neck. He thinks it would be alright. If he were to eventually lean even closer and kiss Jongdae. It would be alright. He does not need the deities to grant him courage he does not have. Again, Jongdae has beat them to it, and it is much better that way anyway. When – not if – Sehun does kiss him, he wants it to be just the two of them. When the black fingers will peel his life away and gorge on his existence, they will take everything. But over this, they will have no power.

“Jongdae…” he whispers.

Jongdae presses his hand harder against Sehun’s neck. He buries his nose in the hair at his temple and breathes him in. Sehun hears him swallow before he hears the rest of the night around them. Jongdae is closer than the wind is, closer than the rest of the castle, closer than anything else.

When he pulls away, Sehun experiences vertigo as his world once again shifts back into focus. 

“When I saw Baekhyun in Dahlia’s room…” Jongdae starts. He looks away, thoughtful. “I miss the mountains, Sehun. I miss the colours in the caves, and the games I used to play with the other children. I miss our food, our songs. I miss the way we speak, the words we say. I miss sitting down at night and holding the hands of those I love while I look up to the stars and talk to them. Baekhyun… Baekhyun is angry and broken, and he has done many things he should not have, but I know I would miss him if he were to leave. I would miss him terribly.” He finally looks back at Sehun. “But it would kill me if something was to happen to you. I did not mean to make you feel like I chose him over you, and it was… It was a terrible thing to hear you say you hate me, but I could not let you kill him without –”

“I should not have said that,” Sehun interrupts. He winces at the remembrance of the rage he put into those words. He wanted them to be like poison, to seep inside wounds and to have them fester. He wanted it to sting, to hurt as much as dropping his sword hurt him then. “I did not… I do not hate you, Jongdae. It was... You did well to stop me in the end. Baekhyun did not kill my mother by his own volition. He is a victim, too.”

Jongdae’s eyes flicker down to Sehun’s lips. He swallows and wets his lips before glancing back up to Sehun’s eyes.

“I… I wanted to tell you about his magic as well,” Jongdae says. He seems to struggle to focus on Sehun again. “It is why I have brought you here. This,” he gestures at the sky, at the stars, and his eyes get a few shades lighter again. They’re the same colour as the sky at dawn. “This is how we get our magic. Through our link with our companions. They talk to the stars because they remember their language, and we talk to them. This bonds us forever. Baekhyun…”

“He has no access to his beast anymore,” Sehun says. “Astre, I mean. His friend.”

Jongdae smiles. He nods. “His magic is weak, broken. He has not talked to the stars for too long and it has scarred him. Cursed magic… cursed magic is dead magic. It is a terrible, terrible magic to use, but it is the only magic he can access right now. It is a bitter thing to do, Sehun. I fear this has changed him forever.”

Jongdae is solar, although wild and sometimes feral, but Baekhyun holds nothing of the light Jongdae hides under his skin. Darkness and shadows seem to be emanating from him. He is like the terrible black circle the deities sometimes hang up in the sky to hide the sun. He would bleed black blood, Sehun thinks. When he spoke, his teeth sometimes disappeared into a great cloud of darkness.

It is terrifying, but Sehun sees the sadness in it as well, now. Was Baekhyun as luminous as Jongdae is? Long, long ago, when he was young and happy and loud, would his fingers turn to blue as well?

“Will he recover from this?” he asks Jongdae.

Jongdae looks helpless and unsure.

“I will help him,” he says, and this pushes everything away to only leave absolute certainty behind. 

“But will he help us?” Sehun asks, before he can stop himself. 

Jongdae stares at him and Sehun slightly shrugs, defenceless. 

“When we find his creature, and he is safe again. Will he help us? Will he stand by our side and offer his testimony to the Council so justice can finally be served and Dahlia can finally be stopped?”

Jongdae immediately nods. “I believe he will.” He pauses and faces Sehun’s obvious uncertainty with strength and challenge. “I have dreamed about him, Sehun. I do believe he will. I believe I was meant to find him, and I believe he was meant to find me. There has to be a reason. He will help us. I just need to… he needs to feel again, to remember what it is like.”

He glances at the sky then back at Sehun. 

“I need to have as much magic as I can, and this is why I intend to talk to the stars tonight. Baekhyun cannot help me look for Astre because their link is too fragile, and I have to make up for that.”

Sehun has so many questions and so many things he would want to say, about the darkness in Baekhyun’s eyes and things that do not come back from the dead, but Jongdae’s eyes are insistent and almost pleading, so he settles on another question instead. 

“How often do you usually talk to the stars?”

Jongdae softly smiles. “It depends. But I have been doing it a lot more lately. Usually, Orage and I like to be as far as possible from the castle and everyone, but I did not want to take you flying tonight.” He pauses and glances at the sky, his nose scrunching up. “Snow is close.”

“It is,” Sehun agrees with a little smile.

Jongdae studies him for a few seconds before breaking into another smile and taking back Sehun’s hand.

“I will take you flying in summer, and you will love it.” He glances at the sky and adds, in a low grumble Sehun almost misses, “The stars know I will definitely enjoy you not freezing to death.”

Sehun chuckles and pulls on Jongdae’s hand. They bump into the other, but it’s quiet and comfortable, and Sehun does not mind the rush of cold air that swoops down on him when Jongdae’s shoulder catches on his makeshift coat and slides it down his arm. He readjusts it with a little smile while Jongdae watches.

“If you are too cold, you will have to shake me out of it,” he says. “I will not hear you.”

Sehun glances at Orage. She has not moved an inch ever since she sat on the roof, and her whole body seems to have frozen on the spot. She is breathing, calm and quiet, although this may be the only visible sign that she is still alive. The angle of her head as she drinks in the night sky and the light flickering in her eyes are both things Sehun does not quite understand. He knows they mean a lot, but they are not for him to fathom.

“What does it feel like?” he asks. He gives Orage one last look before turning back to Jongdae. “What exactly happens when you talk to the stars? Is Orage alright?”

Jongdae tilts his head on the side to look at his friend and the smile that blooms on his face is beautiful and gentle.

“She is,” he says. “And I will be, too.” He pauses to consider his next words. “I do not think I could explain it to you properly. There are no words in your language for that. Just know that it is… It’s like…”

He frowns, obviously frustrated and Sehun squeezes his hand in his.

“It’s alright,” he says with a little smile. “It’s alright. Do it. Talk to the stars, Jongdae, best of the best.”

Jongdae watches him with such intensity Sehun fears he might flake away and lose bits of himself under the weight of his stare.

“It feels like you sometimes,” Jongdae says.

He leans down and kisses the back of Sehun’s hand, which sends a shimmer through Sehun’s body. His hand instinctively finds its place along Jongdae’s jawline. Jongdae looks up, smiles at him, but it’s small and feeble, and it pulls Sehun in. He leans in too, completely awestruck, and Jongdae’s smile gets a little bit larger. His eyes flicker towards the sky, and he is gone just like that. Sehun stops his face a few inches away from Jongdae’s, the air in his lungs trickling out of his mouth in quiet little gasps. He watches. Jongdae’s face relaxes and his skin smoothes out. The constellations on his cheekbones light up like the Crystal Throne sometimes does when enough light pours all over it. It spreads to Jongdae’s eyes, which then lose every bit of colour they had left. They become immaterial and fragile, just like crystals in daylight – transparent enough that you can see through them but not glassy enough that it does not completely distort what you are trying to see. Sehun cups Jongdae’s face to hold it and a vague, distant smile blooms over Jongdae’s lips.

“This is… this is incredible,” Sehun mutters. He glances at the sky, trying to see whatever Jongdae’s colourless eyes are seeing, but the sky is exactly like it is every night. Wide, dark and unattainable. Yet, it seems to be a bit more alive tonight. Tiny little flickers of light are falling all around them, like sparks of a hungry fire reaching out for more wood. “Incredible,” Sehun repeats.

He looks back at Jongdae. There’s a bit of stardust in his eyes and an incessant waft of wind ruffling through his hair. Sehun follows the curve of his cheeks with the side of his thumbs.

“You are so beautiful,” he says.

He lets go of Jongdae’s face and takes his hands in his. He pulls them on his lap, safe and cold between his own warm fingers, and he keeps staring, completely enthralled. The night sky is singing, and it’s faint and low, not for him to hear, but it’s loud enough for him to catch a few notes, a few crystalline twinkles now and then. He imagines the sounds to be words, he imagines the words to come from the stars, and he imagines the stars looking down and seeing him, a meaningless human holding the hands of their best champion, and he wonders what they could be saying about him.

Jongdae wraps his fingers around Sehun’s and this draws Sehun’s focus back to him. He wonders what _Jongdae_ is telling them, but he has a feeling he might already know.

It starts snowing a couple of hours before dawn. Sehun folds himself inside the drape, curling into the fragile warmth left within its folds, and he pulls Jongdae’s hands inside as well. His fingers are cold and blue at the tips, but they’re soft and pliant and when Sehun tightens his hold around them, they squeeze back, immediately slipping between Sehun’s fingers.

The sun never fully rises, not with the sea of snowy clouds blocking the horizon, but when Sehun opens his eyes, hours later, it is brighter – and whiter. Sleep is still pulling at his eyelids, begging to drag him under again, and it hovers over what he sees, like a magnifying gemstone. He sees the blueness of Jongdae’s veins like a web over his neck, right under his chin. He sees the roughness of the black stone bricks of the tower, he sees the few droplets of solid wax on his bedside table. He sees the delicate curl of Jongdae’s lips, close and soft and warm.

“You are beautiful too,” Jongdae says, and there is more warmth all over Sehun, all inside him.

Sleep pulls him back under.

The next few days are restless. Outside, snowstorms after snowstorms have locked them all inside the castle, and talks about blizzards and biting cold overcrowd the keep. Stanvaeld is used to harsh winters, but the explosion of energy that always comes with the first snow more often than not dwindles away when darkness eats away most of the daylight hours. It is the same rhythm they all follow every year – they go high and low, following the snowy tide sweeping over the lands. Soon enough, a Lady or a Lord will have an exquisite idea to fight against the spreading of fatigue and low morals, and they will all perk up as though nothing happened. Sehun has a bet with Jongdae. He is sure it will be a new game while Jongdae has assured him it will be some sort of friendly competition about arts. Sehun hopes not. Most of the court members are terrible with music and poetry. Except Yao.

He doubts Yao has any time to write more of his beautiful poems though, because the Council meets every day. The meetings last for hours, hours during which Sehun has to endure Sun and Sook’s aggressive words and Dahlia’s constant questioning. She quickly slipped past her state of angry ignorance to now focus on a more defying stance with him. He takes each one of her interventions quite seriously and rises to her challenges with more and more anger. This makes for very long talks and barely hidden insults that more often than not end in throbbing pain in Sehun’s head, but it at least gives enough time for Jongdae and Baekhyun to roam the sky and search for Astre.

“I just wish it could stop snowing just for a few hours,” Jongdae says one night, frustration so heavy on his face it pulls his eyelids over his eyes and paints his skin in grey hues. “I know he is there, somewhere, but the snow makes it so hard to _hear_.”

Sehun tries not to worry about time passing by. He tries not to count the diamonds on his jacket every morning – seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one – and chooses to hate them instead. It keeps his mind going while his body has to mingle with the rest of the court as they celebrate each milestone. Eighteen is for the official start of the Alliance, nineteen for the day she met her future husband, twenty for the day they married, twenty-one is for Sehun’s birth and Sehun is stuck. He finds it easier to dull the constant humming of mouths around him when he focuses on his task at hand, which is securing Sejun’s escape from the castle to the safer grounds of Burgh and Marisk as soon as possible.

The Council does not agree. Sehun is not surprised.

“No merchants?” Yao echoes on the third day, incredulity making his voice higher than usual. “At all?”

And Sehun has to start again. He has to explain each one of his demands, although most of them are full of logic and pragmatism, but it is as though he had opened a box filled with doubts when he openly stated he would not travel himself. Now he has to navigate this sea of monsters alone every time he opens his mouth.

“I understand your surprise,” Cheng says, nodding to Yao to acknowledge the legitimacy of his reaction. “But the Great Prince is right when he says the snowstorms are only starting. We are used to the harshness of winter, but traveling during that time is still quite risky. Soldiers have chosen to put their lives on the line for the crown, but merchants? They will only see the possible gain this journey could earn them, not the many dangers they would have to face. It is probably safest that way.” His eyes turn to Sehun. “I agree with you, Great Prince.”

Mostly alone.

Cheng is a great ally, although an unexpected one to have, but Dahlia never tires of the fight. She grew on the battlefield, she learned to bear through the pain of having her arm sore because of her sword and still lift it for a chance to save her own life. She meets Cheng at every argument, charges into him with full weaponry and Cheng loses a bit of his composure every time.

“Burgh lives on trade,” Dahlia says, angry, cold, biting and terribly sharp. “To go there without our best craftspeople would be an insult to them.”

Then the same discussion happens all over again, and it ends almost the same way, with both Cheng and Dahlia barely shifting. Sehun tries to push as hard as he can but the Council is difficult to budge, and he loses a bit of his sanity every day.

“I do not understand why she feels the need to bring Burgh every time we finally agree on something,” he groans on the fifth day of negotiations. They were so close to making their final decisions, but she came and wrecked everything with a single question. It somehow always starts with ‘ _But Burgh is….’_ and it ends in silence. Victorious for her, defeated for Sehun.

“You have made quite a dent on the politics of this Council when you refused to go to Burgh and Marisk yourself,” Cheng answers with the shadow of a smile. His tiredness is more opaque though, and that is what transpires the most on his face. “I suppose there is some symbolism in her using Burgh as her shield. They are the kingdom who struggled the most with the Alliance.”

Sehun glances up from behind his hands. The rest of the Council has left the room already, but Sehun has found himself too tired, too empty, to leave his seat just yet. Cheng has remained on his as well, patiently waiting for Sehun to say something.

“Does she think I want to bring the Alliance down?” he asks, poisonous. Isn’t that what _she_ started to do when she had his mother killed? He does not say it, of course, but Cheng looks like he has caught a hint of Sehun’s burning anger in his eyes.

“I do not know,” he says with caution. “But I do think she is trying to make sure each one of your decisions will not lead to that.”

“Do _you_ think it is what I am trying to do?”

Cheng watches him for a few seconds, smart enough not to rush his reply. He may be exceptional at politics, there is always some sincerity in his words, and he knows how to avoid the usual hypocrisy lurking in the keep.

“I do not think it is what you are doing,” he eventually replies.

Of what he does think though, he says nothing and Sehun does not ask.

He meets every night in his study with Sejun, Baekhyun and Jongdae, and each one of them reports, as though there was something to report. Baekhyun acts more familiar with Jongdae every night. He is still angry, though. He glares at Sehun with so much hatred and bitterness that it always takes Sehun a few minutes once he has left to relax and accept the sound of his own voice again. Jongdae is always there to coax him out of the haunting vision of Baekhyun’s shadow growing fangs. He talks to the stars almost every night now as he burns through a lot of his magic during the day, his efforts to pierce through the snowstorms taking a toll on him. Sehun goes with him every time.

On the sixth day, the Council finally agrees to let Sejun leave after the ceremony of the twenty-fifth diamond – which is three days later. Yao talks about symbolism. It simply feels right to them, to have the Little Prince attend the ceremony of the year the King passed away. Before would not feel right either, as the twenty-fourth diamond is about Sejun’s birth. Twenty-fifth, then. Sehun tries not to think that more than half of the Mourning has passed by and justice still has not been given.

“You are doing your best,” Sejun assures him on the morning after the twenty-third ceremony.

They are walking together to the seamster’s workshop. Sejun is to try the outfits his team has been working on for the journey and he has asked for Sehun to join him. Which greatly satisfied Sehun, who is desperate to make sure every piece will be warm enough to withstand the harshness of winter.

“My best feels like it is not enough,” he says in a dim voice.

Sejun stops him in the middle of the corridor. His eyes feel sharp on Sehun’s face, but his voice holds much gentleness.

“You are doing your best,” he repeats. “I know we will be able to put mother’s memory at rest, sooner or later. And it will all be because of you. Do believe in what you are doing, brother. You will lead us to victory.”

Sejun is always so formal and distant, but since their mother died, Sehun has found comfort in what he used to see as a cold way of speech. Sejun is his secret weapon, a true master in nobility, awfully skilled in the art of handling nobles and their gossips. He has managed to keep quiet most of the rumours about what happened in Hullmast, and for that, Sehun is extremely grateful.

“I will miss you,” he says, because it is true. Sejun has grown to be a more solid presence in his life lately, and it makes him wonder about the things he has missed before.

Sejun smiles.

“Let us hurry, or we will be late. Poor seamster is already worked up enough as it is.”

Sehun chuckles and complies. The seamster has not been as quick as Tien to forgive him for the journey back from the Bay – but he is definitely not as unbothered as Tien, which means he does not direct his annoyance and anger at Sehun, but at his team instead. In the heart of winter, when they have the most work to do, it makes for a very upset team of needle workers. Sehun feels bad to ask them for more fur and more layers so close to the departure, but he feels even worse about the growing ball of nerves in his stomach when he thinks about Sejun, far from the castle and him.

Thankfully, being busy helps. And between the Council meetings and his daily training sessions with Tien, he barely has any time to obsess about everything that could go wrong. It also gives him a very good excuse to avoid Qing. As soon as word got out that the Little Prince would travel to Burgh and Marisk instead of the Great Prince, Qing has been hovering a lot, her hand ceremoniously on her sword and her eyes digging through Sehun’s face mercilessly. He has spotted her a few times at the end of corridors he had just entered, ready to ambush him, and he has felt barely any shame every time he hastily turned around and went for another path. He does miss Qing and her honest, stinging words, but his secrets have grown into too big of a pile for him to know how to start untangling them. He does not want to tell her about Dahlia, and Baekhyun is definitely off limits as well – which leaves him too little conversation topics. So he avoids her.

But this constant state of watchfulness and anguish weighs down on him. It starts with a couple of nightmares. His brother is lost in a forest of snow-covered pines, and the wind is blowing. Sejun is small, so small, and it’s so cold. Somehow, he finds the echo of his nightmares during every meal when everyone around the table seems to be suddenly enraptured by retellings of tales about the snow. Monsters, people who have been lost to winter and stories about souls frozen to death always cut his appetite short.

This leads to a very special meeting, on the evening before Sejun leaves the keep. Sehun and his brother have twenty four diamonds on their jackets. It makes for a horrendous view.

“I cannot let you go alone,” Sehun says, and he’s miserable.

Miserable because it was his idea, and it seems so brilliant at the time, but all he can think about right now is what would have happened to him if Jongdae had not been there back in the Bay.

“What do you mean?” Sejun asks, confused.

His excitement of the last few days has died to an odd quietness, and his surprise at Sehun’s words struggles to pierce through his stillness. He looks at Sehun with what seems to be faked interest, and it is driving Sehun crazy.

He glances at Baekhyun and Jongdae. They are standing together at the other end of his study, as they always do. Their hands are awfully close – as they always are.

“I know it was my idea,” Sehun starts. He pauses and his anguish flares up within him. It makes it hard to breathe. “It is winter,” he says in lieu of explanation.

“We noticed,” Baekhyun says. His eyes are so black tonight that Sehun cannot see his pupils anymore. The burned tattoos on his cheeks have turned to a soft pink, only visible sign that Baekhyun and Jongdae have spent the whole day in the freezing cold of the latest snowstorm.

“You don’t… You do not understand.” Sehun closes his eyes and presses his fingertips against his eyelids. Bright colours bloom over his eyesight.

“Sehun.”

Jongdae’s voice is grounding. It always is. Sehun does not even have to look up to feel safer already, but he does. He always does. Jongdae is watching him with concern, his brows furrowed and his eyes still striated with the remnant of the magic he’s used throughout the day. It makes them look like raw sapphires.

And Sehun immediately realises what he has to do.

“Tell us.”

“I am so sorry,” Sehun whispers. He blinks, then breathes in and stands up from his seat. When he talks again, he uses a clearer voice. “I fear for your safety, Sejun. I have asked you to leave the castle so that you would be safe from Dahlia when we finally go against her, but I realised we have no way to be absolutely certain of her intentions about you. You should hear her during the meetings. She talks about Burgh so much.”

“I have told you she does not mean to harm him,” Baekhyun snarls.

He is so territorial. Over his words, his space, over Jongdae, even. Sehun throws him an apologetic look, hoping that Baekhyun will take it as it is: something meant for him and him only.

“I know. But what do you know of her other allies? She could have some friends in Burgh. They could… they could be planning to try something against my brother over there.”

Baekhyun scoffs. He does not care, obviously, and yet his eyes flicker to Sejun. It is brief and Sehun almost misses it. Almost. He catches it just in time to read the hint of a confirmation in the gesture.

“What are you saying, Sehun?”

Jongdae, again. He is so safe, so overwhelming. His presence fills the whole room, leaving the rest of them so little space and Sehun’s fears are already pouring out of him. Best of the best.

“I want you to go with him.”

It seems to Sehun that every time he opens his mouth lately, it has led to a deep, disturbing silence. In the Council room, when he asked the seamster’s workers to alter Sejun’s clothing, when he answers a question a beat too late during the court meals. When he asks Jongdae to leave with his little brother.

“You can’t…” Jongdae starts.

“What about me?” Baekhyun immediately asks.

Sehun had foreseen this reaction, but he had expected much more hostility to come with it. Last time he offended Baekhyun, Baekhyun was on the verge of jumping at his throat, a low and unnatural sound coming from the depth of his belly. Sehun expected at least a few more cracks over Baekhyun’s skin and more darkness to pour out of him, but there is nothing. Baekhyun just stands there. He watches Sehun with heavy eyes. It does seem that the light is dimmer around Baekhyun.

“As soon as my brother is gone and safe, I will take some soldiers I trust and arrest Dahlia. She will have to tell us where she hid Astre.”

“What if you can make her do so?” Baekhyun presses on, but it lacks strength. He stares without blinking at Sehun, who finds it rather disturbing. Baekhyun avoids acknowledging Sehun’s presence most of the time.

“Sehun, you will need proof to arrest her,” Sejun starts with a little voice. “You are being unreasonable, I will not be alone and –”

“Shut up,” Baekhyun snaps.

Ah, there is it. The anger. Sejun looks awfully hurt by the intervention, maybe even angry, which never happens. He glares at Baekhyun with courage and indifference Sehun does not possess, and yet, it is him that Baekhyun is watching. Sehun stumbles upon his words at first, completely paralysed by the violence spreading over Baekhyun’s face. The light _is_ more faint around him, as though it had been sucked in by Baekhyun’s shadow.

“I – She will --”

“Baekhyun,” Jongdae interrupts. He takes Baekhyun’s hand. “It is alright.”

Baekhyun’s head snaps toward him, and they exchange a terribly long stare. Baekhyun is an eater of all things – he eats light, he eats mothers and self-esteem, he eats Sehun’s words and he eats magic – but Sehun is starting to understand that some of the things he devours are things he craves for, things he needs to sustain the beating of his heart. Jongdae may be one of those things, whether it is his attention, his physical proximity or his touches, Baekhyun always latches on to him and Jongdae lets him gnaw at him.

Sehun glances at their hands as Jongdae links his fingers with Baekhyun and rests his other hand over them, gentle and protective. He looks away. Sejun seems furious and it pulls at Sehun’s heart.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, for the nth time.

Sejun’s eyes flicker towards him. They’re burning at first, filled with so much anger that Sehun slightly recoils, but they soften quickly. The bitterness in them dissolves in a heartbeat.

“I understand your concern,” he eventually says.

“Baekhyun will go.”

Sehun draws back his focus on Jongdae. “What?”

Jongdae nods with determination.

“Baekhyun will go with Sejun. He will protect him.” He glances at Baekhyun and Baekhyun looks almost sad when he gives a sharp nod. “I trust him.”

“You… You trust him?” Sehun repeats with disbelief. He closes his eyes and furiously shakes his head in the hope that it will reorganize his thoughts. “No, Jongdae, you don’t understand. It is… I want Sejun to be safe. Having Baekhyun leave with him will absolutely _not_ reassure me.” He glances at Baekhyun. “I am sorry,” he quickly adds.

Baekhyun merely smiles, and it is almost warm despite the darkness threatening to spill out of his mouth.

“Orage will go with him,” Jongdae quickly adds.

Sehun stares, taken aback. Baekhyun has turned back his focus on Jongdae as well. He is watching Jongdae’s profile intently, his lips hanging low and his eyes dripping sadness all over his face. Jongdae does not look at him. He is looking at Sehun with wide eyes, everything on his face pleading for Sehun to hear him out. Blue trickles into his eyes, reflecting the light coming from the hearth and spreading a thin layer of ice over Jongdae’s irises.

“You will go, won’t you?” Jongdae asks in a soft whisper. He is still looking at Sehun and still holding Baekhyun’s hand, yet when he nods, it does not come from him. Sehun watches Orage and she watches him back with graveness. Her approval shines through Jongdae’s eyes again and he nods for the second time.

“She will take care of the Little Prince for you,” Jongdae says. “Baekhyun will ride her and keep his distance. They will all think he is me. It will keep him safe.”

“Are you doing this to stay with the human?” Baekhyun asks.

Jongdae’s eyes flicker towards him but he does not reply. Instead, he finds Sejun and looks at him more directly than he’s ever done. For the very first time, Sejun does not wince. He holds Jongdae’s gaze with stillness.

“Will you trust her with your safety?”

Sejun does not even glance at Sehun. He just nods.

“No,” Sehun says.

Jongdae ignores him again. “You will come with me tonight and I will talk to the stars for you, give you a bit of my strength. It will help you for the journey.”

“Jongdae, this is…”

Jongdae furiously shakes his head and Baekhyun swallows down the rest of his sentence. Sehun wishes that was at least something Baekhyun did not eat.

“What about Astre?” he asks, but as Jongdae turns back his attention on him, he knows what he thought to be his secret weapon against the sheer recklessness of this plan has already failed.

“We have been looking for him every day this past week but the snow is not helping and I am starting to believe that Dahlia may have been smarter than I first thought.” He pauses. “I am just changing tactics. I will just… stay here and keep a close watch on her. She has to feed him somehow, or check on him. As soon as she leaves the castle, I will follow her. She will take us to Astre herself. And we will stop her, then.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Sejun agrees.

Jongdae grabs his approval in the blink of an eye. He pulls on Baekhyun’s hand, smiles at the latter when he bumps against him and avoids looking at Sehun altogether. Sejun readjusts his cape, which he does every night when he considers the meeting over and readies himself to take his leave. Sehun stays motionless in the middle of his study, he has his own quarry in the pit of his stomach that is turning his insides to stone.

“I should go,” Sejun says. “I need to rest as much as possible for tomorrow.”

Sehun cannot stand his victorious tone, he cannot even accept to wonder what Sejun thinks he just won. He knows his brother will like travelling with Orage’s shadow over his shoulders. This will grant him power and probably force a few more bows out of the Kings of Burgh and Marisk, and it is probably all Sejun has thought about. This brings Sehun back to before their mother died, when he would consider Sejun as objectively as possible during a feast or a speech and wonder what happened that forced them to grow so different from one another. He left for Hullmast with an aftertaste of poison in his mouth and the absolute certainty that he was only wasting precious time, but Sejun cannot fight back the smile spreading his lips. He unlatches Sehun’s door, and he is smiling. He says goodnight, and he is smiling. He leaves the study and he is smiling. Sehun can picture him lying down on his bed, smiling.

“You do not deserve him.”

Sehun blinks away the impromptu mental image of his brother’s smile glowing in the dark to turn around. Baekhyun is watching him, just a few steps away from the window Jongdae has just opened and next to which he is standing, frozen. His eyes jump from Baekhyun to Sehun, and back again.

“You are just a human,” Baekhyun adds. The sadness is gone, and if there still is grief in his eyes, it has grown fangs. “He is the best of the best. He can do things you would never even dare to dream about, and yet, it is to your meaningful life that his existence is linked. It will be the death of him. It is not fair.”

Sehun glances at Jongdae.

“You do not deserve him,” Baekhyun says again.

“Baekhyun,” Jongdae calls right when Sehun says, “I know.”

They look at each other. Baekhyun has eaten more than Sehun thought could possible, and he is now tired and empty. He is surprised to find some challenge in Jongdae’s eyes, maybe even a spark of anger in their depth. They are black again, fully his, but they still hold some wild emotion Sehun isn’t quite sure he understands.

“Let’s go, Baekhyun,” Jongdae says. He holds out his hand.

Baekhyun sends another deathly look at Sehun before he turns away and takes Jongdae’s hand. Orage’s tail curls past the window, ready to help Baekhyun through it. Jongdae easily climbs on the window ledge next and, as he raises his arm into the darkness of the night, as cold slips past him into the room, he looks over his shoulder.

“I will come to you later tonight,” he tells Sehun. His voice is soft but, again, something rises within his intonations, something sharp and angry.

“I will be waiting,” Sehun says with a nod.

Jongdae hesitates then flashes him a quick smile before jumping out of the window. The walls seem to crack and there’s a distant thumping sound that would go unnoticed for those not listening – but Sehun does. He listens to Orage as she walks away and jumps to another tower. Baekhyun will probably have to stop by Dahlia’s room before they leave for the night, just to fake a report for her. Then Orage will sweep them away to an unknown location, where the three of them will be able to sit and look up at the stars in peace. The nights have been cloudy and dark lately, but there is a light up there that cannot be pushed away. Sehun had seen it the previous night. Whatever Jongdae is saying, whatever the stars are answering, it slips past the clouds as though it was a clear, midsummer night.

He walks to his window and seals it off, wondering if there will ever come a time when he will stop feeling so powerless.

He falls asleep despite his best efforts, but the crackling sound of the fire and the warmth of his bed under him drag him away from reality. He finds himself roaming dark lands he does not recognize, but the ocean is chanting in the distance and he swallows salt every time he breathes. There are cicadas all around him, hidden in the tall grass – he can hear them playing their delicate tunes. The sky is black, but so is the ground, so are the stars, and when Sehun glances down at his hands, he finds them black too, charred by a fire he cannot see. The cicadas get louder and louder until their melodious songs become violent, black too. They bite Sehun’s ears and scratch him all over and he realises the cicadas have grown fangs. So he runs off.

Black, black all around him. The ocean reveals itself to him and Sehun almost falls into it. Dark, hungry waves rise to the sky, foam like fingers grasping and reaching. Everything is distorted around him. He is walking in the sky and the ground is spreading above his head. Something hisses behind him and the ocean grows quiet. Sehun stands still, drenched in perfect clarity. It is short-lived, but crystalline. He understands he is about to die. He understands he is walking amongst the deities and they are about to eat him whole. He knows he is too late, and the end is near.

Something presses against his torso. Sehun looks down and he finds, amidst the hundreds of diamonds covering his jacket, long fingers spreading over his chest. Black, black fingers.

When the teeth sink into his flesh, he does not scream. He has grown used to everything slipping past his control.

“Sehun, wake up. Wake up!”

Sehun startles awake. He chokes on his gasp and his skin erupts into a never-ending wave of shivers. Someone is holding him and for a short second, he expects to see mouths that never close and eyes that see all, but his vision comes into focus, and it is Jongdae.

“Jongdae,” he breathes out. He’s cold but sweaty and a few strands of his hair are plastered against his forehead, blocking most of his sight. He bumps his knuckles against his eyes a couple of times while trying to push them away.

“Calm down,” Jongdae says. “It is fine. It was just a nightmare.”

“It was terrifying,” Sehun groans.

Jongdae smiles, pleased to hear Sehun talk. He pulls away to give him space to catch his breath, but he remains within Sehun’s reach. Sehun finds it a bit easier to focus on Jongdae rather than everything else, so he does just that and uses every little detail against the sleep still clouding his thoughts. Realising Jongdae has climbed on his bed and is now on his knees on the mattress gives him the best anchor to hold on to. Dark waters are slowly trickling away from his mind and the burning sensation of long, thin teeth in his skin becomes fuzzy and distant. Sehun still palms his neck with trembling fingers, just to make sure.

“What did you dream about?” Jongdae asks, his brows furrowed.

“Death,” Sehun says. He closes his eyes and presses the heels of his hands against his eyelids, drowning the rest of the visual memories in explosions of vivid colours. He can feel the stickiness of his own face against his hands, and his clothes are clinging to him because of the sweat. His tongue feels too thick in his mouth and his words rasp against the back of his throat. “Just a bad dream,” he adds after a little while.

Jongdae remains silent and Sehun eventually finds it unusual enough that he pulls his hands away to take a closer look at him. He radiates wildness as he always does after he has talked to the stars. Usually, it goes along with a bluish glow around the constellations on his cheekbones and a look of complete contentment in his eyes, but Sehun only sees shadows and darkness on Jongdae’s face right now. It makes him look sharper and less human than he really is.

“Jongdae?” he asks.

Jongdae glances at him but quickly adverts his gaze. Instead, he takes the large map spread over Sehun’s bed. It is a detailed one, quite the handiwork, and it was made in Burgh so most of Stanvaeld is missing from its wide plains and valleys.

“How did it go with Baekhyun?” Sehun presses on, because Jongdae never stays quiet. Oh, he can be discreet in a very predatory way, but he is mostly loud, even when he does not speak. Orage shares the same trait with him. She’s always moving, always fidgeting, and there’s always something coming from her, be it as obvious as a whimper or a yelp or as instinctive as magic and power.

But Jongdae is still. Quiet. It is stopping Sehun from fully leaving the unease of his nightmare behind.

“Fine,” Jongdae says eventually. “Talking to the stars through the same bond is not something we usually do. But it went fine. He is a bit stronger now.

Sehun nods. He expects more, but Jongdae quickly falls back into his state of perfect silence, and it scares him more than he wants to admit. He uses his elbows for support and switches to a sitting position. He can feel a hint of cold air in his room despite the fire crackling in his hearth and he wonders how long it has been since Jongdae slipped through the window. A glance over Jongdae’s shoulders tells him he took the time to seal it before getting on Sehun’s bed.

“Jongdae?” he asks, again. He reaches out and lays a hand over the map. Jongdae’s attention snaps back to him, so quickly that Sehun’s heart misses a beat. “I was studying the route of Sejun’s cortege,” he says, feeling the sudden urge to explain.

Jongdae nods. He gives Sehun the map and does not move, does not even blink, while Sehun rolls it and puts it away on his bedside table.

“Do you not trust me?”

Sehun looks back at Jongdae. He frowns.

“Do you really think I would let the Little Prince get out there without being absolutely confident he will be safe and protected at all time?” Jongdae clenches his fists on his thighs. “Did I not tell you how sacred this is to me? To Orage?” He blinks and his eyes are blue, piercing. It is the swiftest transition Sehun has ever seen him do. “I have her eyes and she has mine. She is me and I am her. I will know everything. If something were to happen, I _will_ act immediately.” He frowns, but it lacks sharpness and anger. He frowns like he cannot believe what he is seeing. “I know you do not trust Baekhyun, but do you really think… Do you not trust _me_?”

_Do you trust me?_

It brings Sehun back to the morning after his mother’s death, to the quietness of her room as he was trying so hard to smell what had killed her. Jongdae had asked him the same question then, although it sounded like a promise for both good and terrible things, and Sehun had offered his trust without a single second-thought.

It feels like a lifetime ago, and yet. It has never been a difficult answer for Sehun to give, not with Jongdae. In fact, he does it so earnestly that it takes his breath away.

“Of course I do,” he says. Jongdae stares at him. “I trust you with everything and everyone that is dear to me.”

Jongdae looks away with a nod. When Sehun offered him his trust for the very first time, Jongdae took him in his arms and dried his tears with absolutely no regard to the rules dictating what he should or should not be doing near Sehun. This time, Jongdae keeps quiet.

“Jongdae?” Sehun asks, just as Jongdae blurts out, “Please do not…” Their eyes meet in the little space between them and Sehun nods to let Jongdae go first.

Jongdae’s eyes flicker from Sehun’s left eye to his right and it spreads a soft, tingling sensation all over Sehun’s face. 

“Do not ask me to leave your side again,” Jongdae eventually says.

Sehun frowns and his confusion somehow eases the tension on Jongdae’s face. He smiles, hesitant and fragile, but he smiles nonetheless.

“Do you remember why you call me Jongdae, and not Beast Rider?”

His question takes Sehun by surprise. He sits up – he had not even realised he had been leaning into Jongdae’s space – and thinks about the answer Jongdae seems to be so eager for, taken aback. He has never really wondered. It’s always been more natural for him to use Jongdae’s name rather than the disgraceful title that has been passed down from generation to generation.

“Surely I am not the only one,” he says, thinking hard. His mother would call him Jongdae as well, although in the privacy of her own study or when she was sure no one else could hear her. He was Beast Rider the rest of the time.

Jongdae smiles again.

“It is fine. Just… Do not ask me to leave you again, please.” Although he had started to slip back into his usual self, this last word cracks his composure again. 

“Why?” Sehun asks. Jongdae narrows his eyes at him, and Sehun suddenly feels very brave. “Why, Jongdae? Why should I not?”

“Because.”

A pause, a lungful of air. He is angry and Sehun himself feels quite war-hungry. He reaches out and takes Jongdae’s closest hand. It is tense and firm and Sehun instinctively answers with harsh touches, his fingertips burying into Jongdae’s flesh to try and dig out whatever treasure it may be hiding.

“Why?” he repeats.

Jongdae stares at him. The light hits his face in such a way that it makes the constellations on his cheekbones look like lightning bolts.

“Because you cannot go around using my name or calling me beautiful and special and looking at me like I am the only person who matters and then just ask me to leave you. You cannot, because that would be cruel, Sehun. So, so cruel,” Jongdae snaps. “And I do not think you –”

The rest of his sentence crashes against Sehun’s lips and Sehun swallows his words, and every twitch of Jongdae’s lips. Because he is kissing him. He takes Jongdae’s face between his hands and leans even more into him to try and follow the rise of hunger in his chest. He is kissing him. But it is not enough, not enough and he wants more, so much more. Jongdae rests a hand against the back of his neck. Sehun is kissing him and Jongdae is kissing back.

“You _are_ the most important person,” Sehun says when the lack of oxygen forces him to pull away. It empties his lungs a little more, but he couldn't care less. “You are,” he adds. Then he gets on his knees as well and kisses Jongdae again.

Jongdae meets him halfway this time. His lips are soft and insistent, and the way he curls his fingers on Sehun’s neck sends explosions of warmth all over Sehun’s body. Something is crackling between his ears, the sound numbing everything else and reducing the erratic beating of his own heart into a distant muffled rhythm. He presses a hand against the back of Jongdae’s head, his fingers catch on the ribbon and feathers, but he still digs for more support so that he can press Jongdae harder against him. Jongdae shifts and wraps an arm around Sehun’s waist. So much of their bodies are touching.

Sehun is on fire.

“I don’t want you to leave me,” he says between two kisses. When Jongdae stops peppering kisses over his lips to look at him, Sehun chases after him.

Jongdae stills him by curling his hand along his jawline.

“I will not,” he says. And it’s so serious despite the volatile quality of his voice as he tries to catch his breath. He is so serious and grave, and his lips are slightly swollen, pinker than usual. He is so serious and formal, but his eyes flicker to Sehun’s lips and he uses his hand on Sehun’s face to angle his head to his liking so that he can kiss one and then the other. Sehun’s breath catches in the back of his throat and his knees suddenly feel very weak under him.

“Very well,” he says, trying to keep his composure. Jongdae tilts his head backwards and starts pressing kisses all over Sehun’s neck and jawline. “Very well,” he whimpers.

Their lips meet for another kiss, but this one is feverish and overwhelming. One of them parts the other’s lips and maybe it’s Sehun, or maybe Sehun is the one moaning in response. All he knows is that he is burning all over and Jongdae’s skin does not feel as cold as it used to – but he keeps trying to find the freshness of it. He has slipped one hand under Jongdae’s collar and is now digging around his shoulder blades while the other is crawling up Jongdae’s arm fighting against the tightness of the fabric as it gets closer to his shoulder.

Jongdae leans harder into the kiss which breaks Sehun’s fragile balance and he almost falls back. Jongdae catches him at the hips to steady him, his fingers like claws and it turns Sehun’s insides into molten gold. He pulls away to stare at Jongdae, and he finds him completely dishevelled and out of breath. This is what finishes to lock away his reason and logic: the idea that this man who is not even a man, whose hands can conjure up fires out of nothing and instil enough magic around him that corals will glow even after he is gone, this man who can fly and is not afraid of it has been reduced to a mess by the sheer hunger in Sehun’s kisses.

“By the deities,” Sehun groans.

He pulls at Jongdae’s outer dress and helps his arms out of the sleeves, grunting when the dress catches on the belt around Jongdae’s thin waist. He buries his fingers in Jongdae’s sides, frustrated and breathless, and rolls his hips forward to bump into Jongdae. Jongdae lets out a low sound, something between a moan and a feral groan. He grabs Sehun by his waist and whirls him around as though Sehun wasn’t taller and heavier. He does it with so much ease and so much strength that it shocks the air out of Sehun’s when his back hits the mattress.

He had already put away his long tunic before climbing into bed, and his undershirt and pants are easy to take off, but Jongdae’s foreign clothes are harder to get rid of. Sehun keeps losing his focus and his fingers float away of their own accord to roam around Jongdae's body. What he cannot touch because of the fabric between them, he scratches at and clenches his fingers over. When he thinks he has finally worked around Jongdae’s belt, Jongdae starts sucking the sensitive flesh over his heart and Sehun loses it again. He has forgotten whose turn it is to escalate and it feels to him as though he has climbed high enough anyway. He closes his thighs around Jongdae’s waist, buries his fingers in his hair and presses himself against Jongdae with so much eagerness it lifts his body away from the bed.

Jongdae wraps an arm around him and keeps him against him. Sehun licks at his neck and almost blacks out when Jongdae moans, the sound strained and drawn-out. He feels it thundering deep within Jongdae’s chest and some earth-shattering frisson is starting to build up in his return. He shivers and kisses over the redness his lips have left all over Jongdae’s neck.

“Please,” Jongdae whimpers.

He sits back, taking Sehun with him and the shift of gravity presses their waists together. They moan in unison and meet for another feverish kiss to seal it between them. Jongdae is the first to pull away. He watches Sehun with eyes blown wide by pleasure and desire, his pupils almost as large as his irises, and this gives Sehun the opportunity to fully take him in. He is beautiful, and his beauty is unique, divine. He brushes the sharpness of his cheekbones with the tip of his fingers, and Jongdae’s eyes flutter close. There are several moles peppered under Jongdae’s eyebrows, hidden under the stars and spreading on the side of his face. He brushes the side of his thumb against Jongdae’s lips and lets out a trembling gasp when Jongdae bites his bottom lip in response, the edge of his canine grazing Sehun’s skin.

“Jongdae,” he breathes out.

Jongdae opens his eyes. He keeps a hand on Sehun’s waist, his fingers regularly pressing into his hip bone, but he lifts the other behind Sehun’s head. He quickly finds the ribbon tying his hair and he pulls on it to free Sehun’s locks. He drops the ribbon with absolutely no regard to it then runs his hands through Sehun’s hair, his fingers catching behind one of his ears and lingering there when he hears Sehun’s breath catch. Something flickers in his eyes. He presses his thumb into the soft flesh under Sehun’s chin and gently forces him to turn his head on the side.

He presses a kiss under Sehun’s ear, then a second. The third one is more about his tongue and the fifth one has too much teeth to be considered a kiss – it still burns. He wraps his hand around Sehun’s cock as he lays the tenth kiss on his lobe. Sehun’s whole body clenches in response, a wave of burning pleasure rising up inside of him. It fills him in such a way he realises he had been empty all this time. It does not matter anymore. He has Jongdae now. 

He curls a hand against the back of Jongdae’s neck, and Jongdae slightly straightens so that he can look at him. His hand feels so good, so insistent around Sehun and it’s shifting everything inside him, rearranging his insides and the way gravity takes a hold of him. He starts rolling his hips to follow Jongdae’s wrist and - _oh_.

“I -- _Jongdae_ ,” he moans.

Jongdae’s eyes are relentless, heavy on him. He wets his lips and studies Sehun’s face with so much intensity, Sehun can _feel_ his gaze on his face.

“I am here,” Jongdae breathes out. “I’m here.”

Sehun bites his lips and tilts his head back to let out another moan, but Jongdae’s eyes quickly pull him back in. He lets go of Jongdae’s neck and tries to focus on the intricacy of his belt again. He works the first rings with trembling fingers until everything is a bit too much. He grabs Jongdae’s arms for support and looks up with another muffled groan. Jongdae slightly smiles, and the look on his face, the warmth in his eyes… it breaks Sehun in the best way possible and drags him out of the dazed fog of pleasure he was falling into. He leans over to press their foreheads together and goes back to Jongdae’s belt with newfound determination. It finally loosen in his grip, just in time for Sehun to buck against Jongdae and let out another long moan of mixed pleasure and frustration. 

Jongdae lays his free hand on Sehun’s cheek and kisses him deeply, which almost makes him forget - _again_. But the hunger is too strong, his eagerness too powerful. It is who he is at his core. He wants. He just wants, and right now, he wants all of Jongdae. So he throws the belt on the side and opens Jongdae’s robes, peeling them away from him until he can spread his hands over his back and down to his sides and feel him and him only. His skin is smooth and warm, and it’s covered with sweat and goosebumps and Sehun wants it so bad. 

He bites Jongdae’s lips and swallows the broken moans Jongdae spills straight into his mouth. When he wraps his hand around Jongdae’s cock, Jongdae’s moan dies down. He pulls away from Sehun and watches him with dark eyes. Sehun leans in to kiss the tip of his nose. His field of vision has started to shrink down and his incessant moaning and whimpering has dried his throat, but he cannot stop. His muscles are tensing, clenching to the rhythm of Jongdae’s wrist, which makes his own strokes erratic and uncontrolled.

But it does not matter, not when Jongdae is holding him close, whispering a litany of his own name into his ear and leaving open-mouthed kisses against Sehun’s throat. It does not matter, because he just has to lean the slightest to cover Jongdae’s face with his own kisses, to love him the way Jongdae deserves and this – this is what drags him over the edge. He stops kissing Jongdae’s temple and buries his face in his hair as a flash of light burns through his whole body. He can feel Jongdae shiver against him, can feel his teeth against his throat. He can feel his own fingers gripping Jongdae’s thigh, his body chasing after the high only to crash against Jongdae’s. He can feel Jongdae’s grip over reality loosen as he follows Sehun over.

When Sehun’s conscience reemerges, they are lying on the bed, Jongdae’s crumpled robes under their legs and his arms around him. It will soon be cold again, the fire far from matching the heat that rose under Sehun’s skin, but there is enough warmth left between them for him to put off the moment he’ll have to pull away from Jongdae. He scoots closer to him and presses a light kiss on the mole on his collarbone. Jongdae’s arms tighten around him, and for a while, everything is silent.

“I remember,” Sehun eventually says.

Jongdae hums sleepily and Sehun hates to wake him up, but he would hate Jongdae to fall asleep thinking Sehun has forgotten, so he pulls away and breaks their embrace. Jongdae’s eyes immediately snap open.

“I remember,” Sehun repeats. “I remember the first time I talked to you. _You_ told me not to call you Beast Rider. You told me your name was Jongdae and that I should call you just that.”

Jongdae studies his face for a few seconds. He brushes Sehun’s hair away from his forehead then gives him a slight nod.

“And you did. You did just that,” he says with a little smile. He stops his fingers on Sehun’s cheek. “Do you know how many people I asked back then?”

Sehun stares for a little while. He would guess, a lot. He remembers how skinny and small Jongdae was when he arrived in Stanvaeld. He remembers the wild curls, albeit much shorter than now, the feathers and the constant surprise in his eyes. He was too quiet and it made Sehun so eager because he wanted to know everything. He wanted the secret behind the ornaments in his hair and his accent, he wanted to know about the winged fox that came with him – he wanted everything. He only realised years later that he had been the only one curious enough to ask.

Jongdae smiles when it’s clear Sehun’s reply will never come, and it’s a bit sad to see. It does not match the faded pink over his cheeks and the kiss-induced plumpness of his lips so Sehun leans in and kisses him gently while Jongdae gathers him in his arms.

Sehun barely manages to stand still while the seamster sews the twenty-fifth diamond on his jacket. He does not escape a few glares sent his way by the master, who obviously has decided that he will not forgive Sehun any time soon. He has grown braver with his grudge though, and Sehun lays the blame for that on the swelling rumours sparkling life through the castle. Winter is hard to endure, and the people of the keep like to indulge in a bit of gossiping every now and then. Sehun is unfortunately not privy to whatever discourse the nobles have chosen to settle for, but from the rising wave of animosity against him, he probably can guess. It was to be expected – and he had expected it really – that once the information about Sejun leaving for Burgh and Marisk instead of him would spread out of the Council room, everyone would have something to say about it. Although no one, of course, says it to him.

Oh, well. It has become so easier not to care.

As it is customary, and as they have been doing ever since the Mourning Ceremonies started, the Council says a few words once the new diamond has been added to Sehun and his brother’s jackets. Today is a special day, Yao says. Then he goes on about Sehun’s father, which Sehun does not remember much of. Sometimes, he thinks he is very close to conjuring his face in his memories, so he processes through the haze in his mind very carefully, but the clearest thing he ever gets is the remembrance of strong arms picking him off the ground. He thinks it made him laugh a lot.

He wonders what those words do to Sejun. His brother was barely one year old when their father fell on the battlefield. The war had started a few months prior to that, so Sehun does not think the King ever had time to pick Sejun off the ground. It does not seem fair to him.

“Are you alright?” he asks his brother after the eulogies and the many, many compliments he was forced to nod along to are passed.

Sejun lifts an eyebrow at him while he adjusts the collar of his travel coat around his neck. The seamster had two of his apprentices put it on him after the ceremony, one of them who is actually meant to travel with Sejun. It was no surprise that the seamster refused to leave the keep again.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asks.

He has been really hard to read all morning. Is he angry? Annoyed? Is he excited? Sehun sighs.

“I don’t know,” he says. I just wanted to make sure.”

Sejun studies his face before breaking into a wide smile.

“Well, I am.” His eyes travel across the room. “The Beast Rider has not come for today’s ceremony.”

Sehun has to bite the inside of his cheeks not to flash his own smile at the mention of Jongdae. He left his room before anyone had the chance to come and drag him to the ceremony, which gave him plenty of time to order everyone to keep away from his suit – no cleaning, no spices in his fire today. Jongdae will have to remain hidden during Sejun’s absence, so that the illusion of him leaving alongside Sejun’s procession is maintained. He was curled under the blankets when Sehun left, so small and so peaceful – and grinning from the kiss they had shared.

“Well, I suppose he has started hiding,” Sehun says. He clears his voice and takes a look around them. “Baekhyun will be ready though. He and Orage will appear above your heads as soon as you have passed the town downhill.”

Sejun nods, looking very pleased.

“Then I guess this is goodbye.”

Again, his eyes linger on Sehun’s face. Sehun has always been the one who looked the most like their mother, but the expectation in his little brother’s eyes right now reminds him of the way the Queen would sometimes look at him.

“Be safe,” he tells his brother.

Sejun smiles, then nods.

“I will see you again very soon,” he says.

_Hopefully_ , Sehun wants to say. Hopefully, they can put that story behind them as soon as possible. Hopefully, he will be able to join Sejun on his way to Marisk so that they can celebrate their mother together in King Alimayu’s court. Hopefully, he wants to say but he keeps quiet, too afraid of drawing the deities’ attention on his wish. They have never been known for their wish-granting abilities.

Sejun bows and Sehun answers with a ceremonial tilt of his head. He watches as his brother exits the room, silence trailing after him. Sehun’s insistence on making his cortege the smallest possible has kept many of the nobles usually following Sejun around away from his procession, and now that they are all looking at him leaving the throne room, Sehun can tell many of them resent his choice. He’s always been more comfortable with soldiers and smallest crowds, but Sejun has always thrived amidst the court members. They will struggle to keep themselves occupied without him, but they will have to adapt. Less people in Sejun’s cortege means less people that could turn against him.

People quickly leave the Throne room once Sejun is gone and Sehun expects most of them to be rushing to the inner ward to wave their goodbyes to the Little Prince. Taking this as his best opportunity, Sehun follows the crowd, only to turn away once he is out of the Throne room. He makes to rush towards the kitchen when someone grabs his arm.

He turns around, caught by surprise. Qing is looking at him with dark eyes. He expects anger after he has avoided her for so long, but there’s only hesitation in her eyes.

“Great Prince,” she says. “There is something I need to tell you.”

Both the formal title and the dithering laced all over her voice give Sehun plenty of chance to push her away, so he does just that. He breaks away from her grip and shakes his head.

“Not now,” he says, and he uses the same formality Qing does, hoping that she hates it as much as he does. “Not now, Qing.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but her witted reflexes let her down and it’s so easy for Sehun to ignore her. He does feel a sting of regret as he hastily makes his way to the kitchens, but he chooses not to dwell on it. There is a lot he does not dwell on to be honest, but it feels at times that it would take him apart if he were to focus on everything. He only wants to get away from the crowd and hide in his room. He wants to be back at Jongdae’s side and forget just for a few hours that he just sent away his little brother so that he could catch his mother’s killer without the risk of her hurting Sejun. He misses Qing, he really does, and he has absolutely no other reason to ignore her than the amount of things he has hidden from her lately.

That, and maybe the fact that when she speaks to him, she sometimes sounds so much like her mother, it is hard not to wince.

“Great Prince!” Cook greets him when he steps into the kitchen.

It is her kingdom here, and he could wear his formal attire and the Crystal Crown, she would still eye him with wariness and order him around. Sehun likes her even more for that. She is a kind, old woman with a wide smile and a gentle heart – granted that you are not burning her dishes.

“That sauce is way too thin, Ten,” she calls out while Sehun makes his way to her.

Her hands are buried deep in wheat dough that her fingers ceaselessly knead but her attention is on the young boy near the main hearth. He looks at her with wide eyes, a saucepan between his hands.

“It needs to boil even more,” she says. “Then, you can pour it over the lamb.”

Ten throws a look of complete misery towards Sehun before nodding and trotting away to take care of his sauce. Sehun cannot help but chuckle before drawing back his attention on the Cook.

“He is a very nice lad,” she tells him, her eyes twinkling. She nods at a table a few steps away, and Sehun follows her gaze to a trail with a pile of flower cakes and a fuming teapot on it. “A servant came to give me your request. I am very pleased that you like my flower cakes so much that you would want some so early in the morning.”

“It is not so early for you now, is it, Cook?” he asks.

“Not it is not,” she agrees with a grin. “Although I might have to wake up even earlier if you plan on giving me more private requests like that one.”

Sehun laughs at the teasing, but before he can reply she adds, “Thank the deities Lady Dahlia comes every morning to rub her unguents over my hands. I did not even feel the first snow in my joints this year!”

She winks at Sehun, completely oblivious to the look on his face.

“Should I make more for you, Great Prince?”

He glances at the trail with the flower cakes and shakes his head with a little smile. It feels weak and painful to him, but Cook does not seem to notice.

“Thank you,” he tells her. “Your pastries are the best in all the Alliance.”

She accepts the compliment with a loud peal of laughter and Sehun pretends he shares her mirth, but his own chuckles feel like sand in the back of his throat. Thankfully, Ten drops the saucepan and its content on the floor with a shriek and Cook completely forgets about Sehun ever coming to visit her. She rushes to her apprentice with uncooked bread dough dripping from her hands, and Sehun uses the opportunity to go take the trail and leave the kitchen as fast as possible.

By the time he makes it to the royal wing, his good mood has completely vanished. He wishes he was the one who had left the keep instead of Sejun. He wishes he was on Orage’s back, even. He would take the freezing cold of the high altitude over the stony feeling in his stomach anytime.

Alas, even his room might not offer him the shelter he is searching for.

Sehun stops at the start of the corridor. She must have heard him because she immediately turns around. Her eyes take him in and her face closes off when she sees the trail in his hands. But she waits patiently by his door until Sehun deigns to walk towards her, always so graceful and stern, so impressive and intimidating.

“Dahlia,” he greets after he stops before her. He dares not to glance at his door to check if she opened it. What is she doing here, ambushing him in front of his bedroom?

“Great Prince,” she says. She bows, graceful and delicate and he hates her. He hates the whites in her hair, the twitch of her lips as she probably swallows down a biting remark, he hates the slight flush on her cheeks – he hates that she looks alive. He hates her so much that it takes over his whole being and he struggles to even stand up and keep the trail in his hands. He nearly drops it, nearly draws out his sword. Nearly kills her right here and now. “There are rules,” she adds when it is clear that Sehun has absolutely no intention of continuing the conversation.

She glances at the trail with a pointed look. Sehun nods. He thinks he hears his bones crack under the effort.

“There are,” he agrees.

She studies his face. He has grown so used to that look that his response is instinctive. He walls up his emotions and thoughts behind a heavy façade of challenge and anger. He knows it is too thick for her, he knows she cannot reach behind it. He has had plenty of training with it during the Council sessions.

“Will you not eat breakfast with the rest of the Court?”

“I think I will not.”

She sighs, her shoulders slightly slouching down but apparently decides it does not matter for now. Oh, Sehun is not naïve enough to think he has won this new unconfessed battle between the two of them – he knows better. She will keep it in one of the secret pouches under her coat and she’ll turn it into another weapon to try and take him down. She is relentless in her determination to have the last word, he has to give her that.

“I am sorry to delay your breakfast then, Great Prince. I realised this morning that I am running low on birch barks and chaga mushrooms. I am also missing a few leaves and herbs, some I have much better use of when they are picked out fresh instead of added dried to my concoctions.” She pauses and studies Sehun’s face. “Surely you are aware that those potions and ointments I make help a lot of people within the keep.”

Sehun shrugs. “I may be,” he says, and she looks as wounded as she would have had he buried the tip of his blade deep into her belly. “Get to the point.”

She lifts her chin high.

“I know the Council is to gather tomorrow after noon, but the sky has cleared up in the north. I think tomorrow will be a clear day. I would like to make the most of the hours of daylight and leave to do some harvesting.”

Sehun stares, dumbfounded. She raises an eyebrow at him and the judgment in her eyes is enough to pull him back in.

“You wish to leave the keep?” he asks. “Tomorrow?”

She nods.  
 _Oh_.

“Very well,” he says. He realises a second too late that he may have been too quick to agree, but Dahlia looks very obviously pleased by this. She may have gotten really good at the whole _hiding your thoughts away_ thing as well, but he is pretty sure he does not see an ounce of suspicion on her face. “I do not mind. Do tell the rest of the Council that we will not meet tomorrow as we had planned.”

She bows to acknowledge his demand. The deities be damned, she even looks grateful, which should not anger Sehun so much, but it does. He turns away and puts a hand over his doorknob. He is pretty relieved to see his door is still closed.

“If there is nothing further you wish to discuss now, you are dismissed, Lady Dahlia.”

He does not wait to see what she will answer. He does not even look back at her. He turns the doorknob and steps into his room, with the balanced trail swaying dangerously on his other arm as the only sign of his precipitation. He closes the door behind and presses his back against it as a makeshift latch. He secures the trail with trembling hands and looks up.

Jongdae is standing before him. He is only wearing his inner robe and his hair is untied and wild around his face. He stares at Sehun with icy blue eyes, his magic crackling around his pupils and threatening to spill any second now. Sehun opens his mouth, but Jongdae gestures at him to keep quiet with a press of his index finger against his mouth. After a few seconds, Sehun manages to make out a bit of movement on the other side of the door. Dahlia is quiet enough to muffle the sound of her steps, but nothing could suppress the ruffling of the heavy clothing winter has forced her to wear. He bites his lips and stares at Jongdae, completely frozen. Jongdae stares back without really paying attention to him, obviously lost in whatever he still can hear. His brows are furrowed, his lips baring his teeth and the tension in his posture is aggressive, threatening, yet Sehun feels safe. Untouchable.

“Are you alright?” Jongdae eventually asks in a whisper. He reaches out and fastens the latch above Sehun’s shoulder before taking the trail out of his hands. His eyes light up upon taking the flower cakes, but he quickly disposes of the trail on the nearest pedestal table. “She was waiting for you. I was trying to decide if I should come out.”

“No,” Sehun quickly breathes out. Jongdae eyes him, eyebrow raised in a silent question, and he winces. He pulls away from the door and runs his hands over his face to chase the tingling sensation of his rising anger. “Did she try to come in?”

Jongdae shakes his head. His eyes are still blue, still shimmering with bright white slivers, and he is still studying Sehun very seriously. The tension is barely starting to leave his body which only makes it more obvious. His shoulders are relaxed, but there still is a strain on his face that makes him flash his teeth a little bit too often and Sehun realises Jongdae was more likely wondering whether he should _attack_ Dahlia or not. He reaches out and takes Jongdae’s hand in his, quite enjoying the way Jongdae’s fingers immediately wrap around his wrist.

“So I suppose you have heard what she asked me,” he says. Jongdae nods. “Do you think…?”

“That she actually means to go visit Astre?” It’s Sehun’s turn to nod. Jongdae considers the idea for a few seconds while pulling Sehun towards him. He ends with his hand up on Sehun’s arm and the other resting on his waist. “It could be,” he eventually says. “I do not think she has found out about Baekhyun being gone just yet. He did tell me they would usually meet at night, but maybe she wants to check on Astre. I don’t know.”

“If not, she’ll definitely know by tomorrow.”

Jongdae looks into his face. “If she is not planning to go there already, she probably will decide to tonight, when Baekhyun fails to show up.”

“And she will have the perfect excuse to leave the keep and make sure she still has his creature.”

Jongdae smiles, and there is too much teeth, too much wildness in his smile. It makes his eyes seem more focused, more attentive, but mostly, sharper. Orage is right here, within him, and he smiles with her power in addition to his. He smiles as though he was about to unleash his magic but also conjure Orage’s claws and teeth. Sehun’s fingers clench around his sleeve.

“I’ll come with you,” he says. “We will follow her and as soon as she leads us to Astre…”

Jongdae nods, his face finding back a bit of its usual softness as he meets Sehun’s eyes. He leans in and presses a light kiss on Sehun’s cheek. He barely feels it but it still awakes something in the depth of his stomach. How confusing it is to feel so much of this – this being Jongdae, being _with_ Jongdae and having Jongdae – while burning through so much anger and fury. He would have killed Dahlia with his bare hands in the corridor had it not been for Baekhyun and the despair in his eyes. Damned be the rules and the correct ways to get justice. He does hope the other Beast Rider knows that, that despite whatever heaviness there is between them, Sehun has put him before his need for revenge and blood.

If he does not, Sehun hopes he will then understand it when he’ll come back to find his winged companion healthy and alive. 

“Now, about those flower cakes,” Jongdae starts with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes.

Sehun chuckles and means to gesture at Jongdae to take one when someone knocks on his door. They both freeze, but Jongdae’s defensive posture is quicker to fade. His eyes are already darkening.

“Qing,” he says in a whisper so low Sehun barely hears him.

He groans and turns towards the door. When he glances over his shoulder, Jongdae is gone.

“Sehun?” Qing asks, and there is something so utterly fragile in her voice, almost broken, that kills Sehun’s excuse right in his mouth.

He slowly unlatches his door. When he opens it, he finds Qing standing in the corridor, her shoulders squared up and her posture close to a fighting stance. She faces him as if he were the enemy, readying herself to the hostility she expects to come from him, and this is enough to flake away his determination to shorten her visit. He silently steps aside to let her in and uses the short distraction to take another look around him. _Where is Jongdae?_

Qing stops in the little vestibule, completely disregarding the comfortable chairs she could be sitting in. She does glances at the trail and the flower cakes but does not seem to think much of it. When she turns around to face Sehun again, there is discomfort in her eyes. He has never seen it, not with him. She always led whatever exchanges they’ve had and her current hesitation is unprecedented. Sehun watches her joints whitens as she tightens her hold around her sword’s hilt, at a complete loss for words.

“Qing, I am sorry,” he starts, although he has absolutely no idea how to explain his recent behaviours.

She does squint her eyes at him, but her face almost immediately smoothes out.

“You know I loved your mother,” she says.

Sehun blinks, taken aback. He nods. “Of course.”

Qing smiles, and it lessens the tension on her shoulders a bit. “The Alliance was the work of her life. She dedicated many of her days to make sure it was working. She truly believed it would make the world better, if they were to stand together.”

And for a while, it did make the world a better place, Sehun thinks. He nods. Qing follows his nod with her eyes, the lines on her face deeper than he’s ever seen them.

“Today, we honour your father too. She loved him. Losing him was terrible for her, terrible. She was still so young. At twenty five, she had already gone through so much pain.”

Qing worries at her lips, her brows deeply furrowed. She looks so different from the woman Sehun is used to. If she had something to say, she would say it just like it came to her, and if she needed to lose the titles for that, she would without having second thoughts. He wonders if it’s something he’s done to her, if he went too far in his attempts at avoiding her. He just… did not think she would mind that much. He did not think much, to be perfectly honest.

“Qing,” Sehun says, eager to help her out. He is growing nervous at her tension. “What are you trying to tell me?”

She takes him in then lets out another sigh. “I loved your mother,” she repeats. “And she loved me too.”

Sehun nods. “I know that,” he says. “But –”

“Sehun.” His name is familiar in her mouth, warm like it always was when his mother used it. “Listen to what I am saying, will you? I loved your mother, and she loved me.”

_Oh_.

An abundance of emotions flash through Qing’s eyes, many of them Sehun had never seen before. She is sad, grief-stricken and full of regrets, but she’s also gentle and relieved, delicate and in love. Or maybe he did see her like that before, maybe he saw more than the Captain of the Queen’s guard in the only woman in the keep other than his own mother who could call him by his name and scold him when he was being silly. He just … let it pass by without thinking about the value of it. It breaks his heart a little – what wasn’t already smashed to pieces anyway.

“Qing,” he says, and she stops him with a dismissive curl of her fingers and a smile.

“It is alright, Sehun.” She closes her eyes for a couple of seconds and breathes in deeply. Her fingers aren’t on her sword anymore when she looks at him again. “I know you have been going through a lot lately, and I see your mother in the way you have been dealing with all of it. She was a great Queen, which, I know, is how you will choose to remember her, but she was not perfect, Sehun. She made many mistakes in her life, and I know… I know she would want me to make sure you do not follow her steps.”

She carefully studies Sehun, who can only stand there, completely frozen. There’s a hurricane in his head and he has absolutely no idea what he should be thinking.

“You like that you are not on the way to more ceremonies and feasts right now, don’t you?” she asks, a hint of the teasing she would so often use against him in her eyes.

He snorts. He can only nod, because it is the plain truth. It makes her smile, soft and sad and she finally walks up to him. She reaches out and brushes his cheek with the back of her hand. The gesture is so familiar and yet so distant that it pulls him out of his body and shoves him deep down at the same time. He looks at Qing’s now close face, and feels his eyes swell with tears. She smiles a little more, so small and yet so big and important, then brushes his hair behind his ear.

“I am not sure why you seem to think that I would get mad at you. I do not think I have ever made you feel like I expect you to only care about Stanvaeld and the crown. I… Sehun, I truly believe it is completely fine to secure things for yourself too,” she says. “The Alliance is important, but you are as well. Your life has already started. Do not wait until you are on the Red Diamond Throne to do important things. You’re to be King soon. Be Sehun too.”

Most of the time, Sehun’s efforts to dig out his father from the deep fogginess of his memory stumble into flowing images of his mother raising him and Sejun. And Qing, always Qing in the back, watching over them, playing with them in the gardens, dragging them to their lessons. Sehun has lost most of those things, the carefreeness, the height that makes it so easy to hide under the short bushes in the gardens, and his mother, but some things remain.

And maybe he has other things too, now. Other hands that reach out and put his hair behind his ear. His eyes flicker to the rest of his bedroom, still empty and quiet.

“Qing,” he says, his voice trembling. He wraps his arms around her and lets his body fold into the warmth of her embrace. She pats the back of his head. “I miss her so much.”

“I miss her too,” Qing says. Haven’t they shared those exact same words before? Haven’t they circled around their pain enough? When will it end?

_Soon_ , he promises himself.

She holds him for a long time, her fingers smoothing his hair and spreading over his back.

“Whatever you think you have to go through alone, know that you can always share it with me,” she says eventually. “Whatever the ordeal, whatever the price, I’ll always be willing to pay.”

He knows what she is asking. Oh, she has probably started to look for answers on her own. But he cannot tell her, not now. His silence will pain her and probably anger her, but he’ll make up for it when he’ll have Dahlia in a cell in the donjons and justice brought to his mother’s name. His need for revenge swells up in his chest, switching from the orange hues of a blacksmith’s fire to the blinding whites of bolts of lightning.

“I know,” he eventually says. She is very small against him, and he can smell the oils in her hair, but her arms around him remain strong. “I am just… trying to come to terms with the fact that I will be King in less than a month now.”

She pulls away to take him in with a frown. She is not fooled, of course she isn’t, but she won’t press, not after everything she told him. He knows this is just a temporary respite and that she will launch other attacks probably not later than the day after, but he is quite sure she has told him exactly what she had to tell him. She will come back for the questions, for now though… she looks relieved. Free, at last.

“Was it my mother’s choice?” he asks, stopping her from switching back to the formality of her military pose. Her hand stops above her sword and she hums questioningly. “Was it her choice to keep you secret?”

Qing smiles. “She was a Queen,” she says. “And I was the Captain of her guard. I was hardly a secret.”

Sehun shakes his head.

“You know what I mean.”

She nods and considers him for a short few seconds. “I do know.” Then she does the scariest thing Sehun has ever seen her do: she takes a long look around his bedroom, her eyes going over everything she can see and halting on the things she can only guess. When she turns her attention to him, she curls her and over the hilt of her sword, a tiny smile on her lips. “You are not your mother, son,” she says, simply. 

She turns towards his door, stops and looks back at him.

“I will see you around?”

He can tell she meant it as an affirmation, but her voice slips past her control and her intonation rises up of its own accord. She does not wince or frown though, she just looks at him, still and expecting an answer to the question she never meant to ask.

“You will,” Sehun says with a little smile.

She snorts but does not comment. Again, her eyes quickly flicker to the rest of his room. She is back to her military stance, and yet she lingers. Sehun braces himself for the worst.

“I heard the Beast Rider left with the Little Prince,” she says. Gone is her hesitation. She does mean it as a question this time, but it is subtly wrapped into something between an accusation and a meaningless piece of information. “Your brother was apparently very displeased with the shadow in the sky.”

“Mmmh?” Sehun hums, faking innocence and ignorance as best as he can. He has to admit that the fast propagation of this particular rumour forces his admiration: of what Sejun truly said when Orage and Baekhyun appeared in the sky, the nobles absolutely know nothing and yet. It is, as always, taken as the absolute truth.

“Alright,” Qing says with a little nod. “I will let you keep your secrets for today.” She is smiling. “Tien has told me you have started training with the sword again? I might join you this afternoon then.” She pauses and her smile is wide and familiar. “I do need a good laugh.”

Sehun groans, which makes her chuckle. She fakes the start of a bow that she does not complete. It is part of her teasing routine and Sehun still thoroughly enjoys it. He plays his own part with perfection, crossing his arms over his chest with feigned annoyance, and when she waves at him after opening the door, he remains impassive. She builds her own façade of the Captain of a guard that does not exist anymore before truly exiting his room, then she leaves him with the heaviness of what she told him along with the memory of her smile still spreading over his retinas.

Sehun closes his eyes and presses his fingers against his eyelids. He can taste the herbal tea on the tip of his tongue and there’s a hint of rose in the air, but the rest of his room grows silent and quiet. He thinks of his father, a faceless name, and he tries, one more time, to see higher than his shoulders, higher than the arms that would lift him up and make him laugh, but there’s only fogginess there. The more he tries, the less he manages to hold onto him. In the end, Qing is the one lifting him up high and low, and Sehun still is laughing.

“Sehun?”

He opens his eyes. Jongdae is standing in the vestibule again as though he had never left. Sehun would very much like to know how he accomplished this incredible deed of slipping out without him noticing and where he hid during Qing’s short visit, but he finds he cannot part his lips to form any words without the knot in the back of his throat swelling up. He does let out a trembling sigh and tries to rebuild his composure as best as he can, but Jongdae’s eyes are heavy on him, and it just keeps swelling in the back of his throat.

He closes his eyes again and lowers his head. Jongdae immediately comes to him, in perfect silence and yet, his proximity already starts numbing the howling in Sehun’s mind.

“I know,” Jongdae says in a soft whisper. He lays a hand on Sehun’s neck and presses their foreheads together. “I know.”

Sehun leans into his embrace. He clenches his fists on the delicate fabric of Jongdae’s inner robe, his fingertips scratching against the hip bones beneath it.

“We need to stop her,” he says.

“We will,” Jongdae agrees.

He takes Sehun’s face between his hands and kisses him on the cheek. Sehun blinks away tears he had not realised had taken over his eyesight.

“We will,” Jongdae repeats.

He takes Sehun’s hand and holds it against his chest while he presses another kiss on the corners of Sehun’s lips.

They eat the flower cakes in silence after that and share the tea Cook prepared for Sehun in the same cup. Sehun complains about the water being cold and makes to put the teapot near the fire, so it can warm up and be good again, but Jongdae stops him and curls his hands around it with a little smile. Something pulls at Sehun’s insides, a kind of tension he had never experienced before and the air in his room crackles. When Jongdae fills the little cup again, the water is fuming, almost boiling, and they have to wait for a few minutes before even trying to drink more of it again.

Sehun does not join the rest of the court for lunch, but he does help Jongdae into the nearest secret tunnel so he can call for a servant to bring more wood for his fire and get more food for them. They kiss in the secrecy of the tunnel and the burning sensation left by Jongdae’s fingertips on the side of his face remains the whole time he speaks to the young girl. He knows he is smiling too widely, and she looks a bit taken aback by that, but he manages to ease her into forgiving him for his endless grinning when she comes back with a trail for him and he gives her a large piece of warm bread with a couple of slices of caramelised duck. She thanks him profusely and it only makes him smile more.

Jongdae has taken up Sehun’s bed as his den, which Sehun absolutely does not mind. He quite likes to see him sitting cross-legged amidst his pillows and blankets, looking so comfortable and like he belongs while he himself sits by his hearth. They keep quiet for the most part, with Sehun folding meat into buckwheat pancakes and shoving them in Jongdae’s hand every once in a while. He eats them with a twinkle in his eyes and a thankful smile before slipping out again, his focus leaving to more important places. His eyes are of the bluest blue and Sehun thinks he catches tiny little thunderbolts between his fingers a couple of times. Jongdae keeps him updated about Sejun’s cortege, about the snow and the winds they have to face all the while following Dahlia around with the rest of his senses.

“She is in her room,” he tells Sehun when Sehun hangs his sword at his belt a couple of hours later. He is already late, and Tien hates him to be late. He expects their first sparring round to be quite intense. “I smell… so many flowers and leaves. I think she might be checking on her stock.”

“Still hasn’t realised about Baekhyun?”

Jongdae shakes his head.

“Alright,” Sehun says with a sigh. “I will be back in a few hours.”

Jongdae smiles and follows him to the door, so he can lock it behind him.

Sehun does poorly with Tien. Qing laughs, at first, but Tien’s growing annoyance somehow rubs off on her and she eventually joins them on the field to top Tien’s advice with her own. It doesn’t take long for Sehun to find himself with two very angry women charging at him with swords that move way too fast for him to register.

“By the deities, Great Prince,” Tien groans after a little while. She has stopped pretending to look sorry every time she cuts into his clothing to instead settle on more exasperation as though he had been the one doing it to _her_. “I have told your Royal Highness a hundred time. You are not good enough to be that aggressive with your sword. Stop trying to attack me when I come at you.”

Sehun glares at her. He has half a mind to order her to take his clothes to the seamster after, so that she can face his anger instead of Sehun.

“Tien is right, Sehun,” Qing immediately joins. She looks quite bothered too, but her crossness is softer, almost distant. She has given up on Sehun’s sword skills a long time ago. “Sometimes the best defence is to simply step out of the reach zone of your opponent’s blade. More often than not, you’ll put them in a bad spot just by pulling off.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Sehun snaps.

Damned be the deities, because Qing takes it at face value and immediately tries it out with Tien. To no one’s surprise, she pulls it off with panache and Sehun then has to face their smugness and pretends he finds it deeply interesting how their manoeuvres are different because, _you see, we fight with different styles, Sehun_. Qing’s presence helps Tien break out of her thick shell of formalities and titles, so that she eventually shrieks with pleasure when Sehun manages to block her sword and use it to thrust the tip of his blade towards her chest.

“Sehun!” she says with wide eyes. She clasps her hands together as she hops on the spot, very obviously holding back. It is almost funny to watch her face go from joy to horror when she realises she called him by his name rather than his title, but Sehun is still a bit too grumpy to rejoice.

Qing immediately swoops in, saving Tien from the embarrassment of trying to apologise for a mistake Sehun has absolutely no intention of holding against her. She squeezes Sehun’s shoulder with a strong hand.

“Well done, my boy,” she says.

And maybe it is worth every cut and embarrassing fall.

He swiftly goes to the kitchens after Tien has granted him his freedom earlier than usually, her cheeks still a deep shade of red. Cook is pleased to see him, as usual, and when he asks her if she could send his meal directly to his room later in the evening via the same young girl who brought him his lunch earlier, she eyes him with fake displeasure.

“Are you spoiling my aides, Great Prince?”

“I would never,” he immediately says.

It makes her laugh. She is in such a good mood actually that she shoves more flower cakes in his hands before letting him leave the kitchen. Sehun meets Ten’s miserable eyes as he walks out. The young boy has probably been chastised to the boring task of stirring the huge pot of soup simmering over a fire in the corner after his morning misstep. He looks so glum that Sehun throws a cake his way. Ten catches it swiftly and his face lights up.

“Thank you Great Prince!” he singsongs.

“Great Prince!” Cook calls him out.

Sehun rushes out of the kitchen before she can scorn him, a big grin on his face. He quickly makes his way through the corridors, choosing to follow less taken hallways and stairs to avoid meeting anyone else. Luckily, parts of the keep are often closed down during winter, so it is easier to heat up its heart, and it makes for a very cold – but very quiet – way back to his room.

Jongdae opens the door before Sehun even has a chance to knock on it.

“Oh, Orage will be in a terrible mood,” he chuckles as he takes in the flower cakes in Sehun’s hands.

Sehun fastens the latch behind him again and they sit together on the rug before the hearth. It smells like pine needles and citrus in his room, the result of whatever the young servant threw in his fire when she replenished the little stack of small logs earlier. It smells like Jongdae too, under all those scents. It almost goes unnoticed, but it tickles Sehun’s nose when he breathes in a large lungful of air, and it makes him giddy and warm – warmer than the fire even does.

They entangle their legs and Jongdae lets Sehun take care of his hair while he tells him all about the things he has seen during the day. He then explains how he will share the feeling of the flower cake in his mouth with Orage and how she will receive it, what it will feel like for her, and Sehun listens more carefully than he’s ever listened to anyone else. He lets Jongdae’s curls cascade down and scoots closer, so that he can press his chest against Jongdae’s back and rests his chin over his shoulder. He closes his eyes and lets Jongdae eat in silence. He thinks about Orage and how human she sometimes acts. He thinks about the width of her wings, the softness of her fur and the sharpness of her talons, and it makes his smile when his mind takes him back to the beach in the Bay and how she had so much fun with the children there.

Jongdae lays his hand over Sehun’s arm around his waist.

“Orage misses you. She is happier feeling your warmth than tasting the flavour of the flower cake.” He pauses then glances at Sehun over his shoulder. “And it was a _very_ tasty flower cake.”

Sehun chuckles. He buries his face deeper into the crook of Jongdae’s neck and Qing’s words come back to him.

“Did you know?” he asks. He looks up and stares at Jongdae’s profile. “About Qing and my mother?”

Jongdae shakes his head, but he hesitates a little bit before opening his mouth. “I had my suspicions I guess. Your mother was very private.”

“Was she?”

Jongdae turns his head so that he can properly look at Sehun. He flashes him a soft smile before nodding. His fingers wrap tighter around Sehun’s arm.

Sehun does not remember her as a private woman. He remembers her as a loud and well-spoken leader. She would always greet back the people entering the throne room to speak about their grievances. She used to laugh a lot during the meals and she mingled with the Court members with the same ease Sejun navigates their plots and gossiping now. Was she private, really? She answered every question he had for her, patiently explained exactly what she was doing when she was doing it and there was no shame, no embarrassment in her voice when she told him about her struggles as a young, inexperienced Queen.

Jongdae lifts his free hand to play with the hair over Sehun’s temple and Sehun blinks to focus on his eyes again.

But did she ever tell him about Qing? Did she help him remember his father, did she help Sejun know what kind of man he was? Sehun himself does not know. He knows about the deeds, he knows about his death and the glory of his few years as a King, but he does not know about _him_. Did he like flower cakes? Did he like touring the quarries? Praise the deities, did _she_ like touring the quarries? She knew of the importance of it, but did she enjoy it?

“You resemble her in that,” Jongdae says with a little smile. He brushes Sehun’s temple with the tip of his fingers. “You keep a lot of your thoughts locked away.”

Sehun swallows.

“I don’t want you to be my secret,” he eventually says, and he hates how small and unsure his voice sounds. _She was a great Queen_ , Qing had said. _You’re to be King soon. Be Sehun, too._ “I really don’t,” he adds.

Jongdae studies him before pulling away from Sehun’s grip and shifting so he can face him. He cradles Sehun’s hands in his and squeezes them between his fingers.

“You are not your mother,” he says. “You are not your father either. You are not even a King, yet.”

Sehun snorts. “What am I, then?”

Jongdae smiles, bright and warm.

“Sehun.”

He lets go of Sehun’s hands and leans in to cup his face and kiss him. His lips are cold against Sehun’s, and yet there’s a fire trailing after them, licking at Sehun’s skin mercilessly. It makes him feel feverish and sickly, and not even getting rid of his clothes fully soothes him. What does though is the never ending trail of kisses Jongdae leaves all over his body, the way he presses hard against him, the way he rolls around on the rug with his arms tightly secured around him. It helps to lean down and kiss him too, it helps to run his fingers through Jongdae’s hair and chuckle against his skin when they catch on a feather and Jongdae has to entangle it from his hair. He helps to pause and watch him as he lays under him, pliant and eager. It helps to push him far into eagerness and want with a few swirls of his tongue or the lightest brush of his fingers.

Jongdae helps. Every part of him helps. Sehun loses his breath trying to tell him, to show him but Jongdae is there to gather him in his arms and keep him whole and complete. They kiss long after the fire between them has cooled down to a comfortable warmth, both aware of how little it would take them to rekindle it into gigantic flames. It feels good to dwell on the edge, not fully satisfied but not too needy either.

It helps. It really does.

“Your brother will reach the Burgh border in a couple of hours,” Jongdae says into his ear. He has one leg resting over Sehun’s waist and an arm serving as a makeshift pillow under his head. “Orage has seen a welcoming committee waiting for them there.”

“He hasn’t set camp yet?” Sehun asks. He has no idea how late it is – although probably not _too_ late as the girl hasn’t brought him food yet, but the light was already dwindling at the end of Sehun’s training session, so he supposes it is now dark outside. It would have been safer for Sejun to settle for the night before the night actually came.

Jongdae senses his worry. He kisses the soft skin between Sehun’s ear and the end of his jawline. Sehun’s belly immediately tenses with interest.

“Orage is keeping an eye out on the terrain. It will be fine. I think Sejun might want to come back as soon as possible.”

Sehun slightly nods. He studies Jongdae’s face for a little while, quite enjoying the way the fire lights up the constellations on his cheekbones and how light bleeds over his face.

“Do you know if the first Queen told the people about her and Junmyeon?”

Jongdae shrugs. “Who can tell?”

He lays his hand on Sehun’s hip and brushes against the bone jutting out with the side of his thumb, a little smile spreading on his face. Sehun chuckles then leans in for another kiss.

It is only a couple of hours later that he is seized by the sudden realisation that the stories about the first Beast Rider in Stanvaeld are so different because one tells the truth while the other masks it behind so many layers it has been lost forever. He turns towards Jongdae who is sitting on his bed again, his eyes closed and a bluish glow radiating from his fingertips and he knows. He knows that those beings who are so insensitive to the passing of time and who keep promises over the span of centuries have not forgotten that, a very long time ago, someone from Sehun’s kind loved one of them. And she never told anyone. She sealed the rest of their history and condemned every last one of them.

_You do not deserve him_ , Baekhyun had said.  
The Queen did not deserve Junmyeon either.

He forgets the trail with their dinner on it in the vestibule and rushes back to Jongdae. The deities be damned. He will show them all. He will tell them all.

Jongdae wakes him up before the Red Diamond ceremony, the skin under his eyes swollen and painted blue by the lack of sleep. Sehun immediately sits up. He is still holding Jongdae’s belt, which he studied quietly the night before while Jongdae was gone, taken away by the constant flow of magic he was throwing all around him. He tried so hard to understand how something so common as a belt can look so different when it hasn’t been made by the same hands and sleep probably found him still asking himself the same question, over and over. Sehun did not even feel it sweep him away.

“Have you slept at all?” he asks Jongdae, his voice all irregular from the sleep still laced all over it. He reaches to smooth the shadows under Jongdae’s eyes.

He shakes his head, but smiles comfortingly. “I have watched over Sejun and Baekhyun. They are alright. I think the King’s wagon must be near Marisk’s border because the few people from Burgh who greeted them have taken them towards Marisk.”

Sehun nods, thankful for the information. If Jongdae is right – which he probably is – Sejun’s journey will be greatly shortened by the proximity of the King’s wagon to Marisk. It might take him less than a week to celebrate their mother in Burgh and to do it again after in Marisk. He wonders if Dahlia can feel the teeth of fate looming in closer. He hopes she does.

“You do not look fine,” he says, taking in Jongdae with concern. Jongdae smiles and kisses the bridge of his nose to reassure him.

“I used a lot of my magic last night. I will need to be more cautious now. I cannot talk to the stars without Orage. I trust her to call out to me if something happens, so I let Sejun and Baekhyun go.”

Sehun tries not to wince. He tries really hard, and he most certainly fails because Jongdae brushes his fingers against his forehead without thinking, probably to ease the frown building there. Sehun is really trying, though.

“I am focusing on Dahlia as much as I can,” Jongdae says. “And you need to get ready. She will leave after the Red Diamond ceremony. She already has her winter clothes on.”

Sehun nods. He untangles himself from all the heavy blankets Jongdae has probably thrown on him last night and he gets off his bed.

“Has she realised about Baekhyun yet?”

Jongdae looks sheepish.

“I am not sure. I may have blacked out last night because of how hard I was focusing on Orage.” He glances at Sehun. “She must have, though. She must.”

Sehun nods. He turns away from the basin of water in the corner of his room to focus his attention on Jongdae. Again, something lights up inside of him, and he is taken over by overwhelming images of Jongdae beneath him, Jongdae on top of him, Jongdae kissing him, him kissing Jongdae - _Jongdae_. He is almost ashamed to realise how happy he feels despite basically everything else, but just like his magic is a true force of nature, Jongdae has wrecked many things within Sehun. He resembles the wind, in a way, and Sehun is far from being the stone his mother was. He bent and bowed in its wake, like high birch trees would, and now everything is upside down. He does enjoy the view he has now. He really does.

The Red Diamond ceremony is as boring as usual, and the diamond is as ugly as the twenty-five ones that came before it. The seamster is harsher with his gestures, and it is starting to annoy Sehun a little. He is growing tired of people cultivating and growing grudges as though they were some kind of necessity, and with so much ease they totally forget to feel embarrassed about their reaction. This annoys him enough that he absolutely does not try to hide his haste to leave the room after the ceremony. He raises a trail of voices he does, but he does not care. He does meet Cheng’s eyes in the crowd as he walks out of the throne room, and they are concerned and questioning. Sehun does not stop.

He puts on his winter clothes and leaves the keep before anyone proves to be brave enough to stop him. When he gets into the stables, he pretends he does not see the stable mistress eying him disapprovingly as he gets his horse ready. He’s been riding Heng for many years now, and he knows how to ready it for winter weather, yet she would have him wait on the side so that one of her trusted stable boys could do it for him. Sehun does not need the formality, he just needs his horse. He does bow at her when he finally gets out of the barn, Heng’s reins in his hand and the horse trailing after him, and she grudgingly accepts it with a nod of her head. Sehun takes it as a sign he did a good job. She would have stopped him right away otherwise.

Soldiers are the gate seem almost panicky when he tells them he will be gone for the rest of the day, but unlike the rest of the royal court, they have no societal status to rely on, so their displeasure and worries are buried deep under formal greetings.

“Sir, are you not leaving with an escort?!” one of them calls after Sehun.

“I do not need any escort,” Sehun says. “I am just taking Heng on a hike.” He turns around and is surprised to see that the soldier who talked to him is none other than the young woman who came into the Council room several days before. He smiles, pleasantly surprised and enjoys the way she smiles back at him after she greets him with a full bow. Standing in the cold of winter has visibly not watered down her enthusiasm. “I will be back before dinner,” he assures her. Because he figures Dahlia cares too much about appearances to even think about missing out on a formal dinner. “If I am not, then I trust you to come to my rescue. But I assure all will be well.”

She seems to hesitate for a few seconds.

“Great Prince, it is very cold,” she says.

He smiles. “I have noticed.”

“Where are you even going? I should know, if I am to come find you later.”

Her companion elbows her in the waist, very obviously horrified at the hint of familiarity between her and the Great Prince. Realising he might be right, she blushes so quickly and with so much intensity Sehun worries about her health.

“What is your name?” he asks her.

She glances at her friend, who stands completely frozen, then squares her shoulders.

“Yerim.”

He smiles. She probably could pass as older than what she really is, but there is something undeniable in her voice, something that says too much about her eagerness and lack of inexperience. But he likes her. He really does have to talk to Tien about her, because he would very much like to have her in his Royal Guard after he is crowned. He is pretty sure she would love it too.

“Alright, Yerim,” he says with a little nod. “I will see you tonight.”

He greets her with a nod and she immediately bows down, her armour clicking and scraping in protestation. She manages to complete the graceful bend with honours though and she is still smiling at him when Sehun finally turns around to walk away. He hears her muffle an overexcited whimper and guesses her companion is a bit too seasoned to find any pleasure in meeting a royal figure, because he mostly sighs and groans.

“What is it with them today? Lady Dahlia first, and then the Great Prince? Is it a royal thing not to mind the snow?”

Sehun does not hear Yerim’s answer, but he guesses she promptly scolds him for his grumpiness, and he can only imagine the scene resulting. He quickly shifts back his focus to the ice under his soles. The cobbled-stone road curling downhill is too steep of a slope to take the risk of riding Heng for now. He does not want to harm his horse, and deems it safer for him to trip rather than the stallion. It happens a couple of times and he is forced to slow down to avoid breaking his neck. Long gone is the flash of good mood Yerim gifted him with, but he finds it easy to grieve it. Today is the day he will stop Dahlia. Today, everything will change for the better.

He is about halfway to the town when Jongdae emerges from the bushes on the side of the road. Again, Sehun almost loses footing as he stops abruptly on the road. The snow cracks under his soles, packed by the coming and going of soldiers and townspeople up and down the hill, its surface a deadly spread of glimmering ice. The nights are getting colder and colder, and when snow stops falling is when ice grows. Caution is of the essence, and even though Sehun knows all of that, he walks a little bit too fast towards Jongdae. Heng trails after him with careful steps, completely oblivious to Sehun’s enthusiasm.

Jongdae crosses the deeper snow on the side of the road to get to him. He holds out his hand so that Sehun can use it as support as he leaves the relative solidity of the black cobblestones for the uncertainty of the untouched snow-covered ground of the grove.

“Careful, it’s very deep here,” Jongdae says.

His fingers tighten around Sehun’s wrist as he helps him walk up the side of a ditch Sehun only knows is here because of his knowledge of the terrain. He then takes the reins out of Sehun’s hand to lead Heng towards them, and the horse follows his quiet directions without so much as a nervous shake of his head. Snow has flattened the whole landscape, and it is bound to make things more complicated for them today. Or, for him and Heng at least, because Jongdae seems completely unbothered by the conditions. He does not even wear any winter cloak over his usual garments, and it’s only when Sehun wraps his own fingers around Jongdae’s wrist that he realises he is as cold as the snow, if not colder.

His eyes are bluer than the sky and his pupils are blown wide. He looks exhilarated.

“She’s on her way to the birch forest,” he tells Sehun, but when he looks at him, he seems to be watching something else.

Sehun looks over his shoulder for good measure. There is only snow, more snow, and a few high and thin trees. More colours seem to have bled out from Jongdae’s face since he saw him before the ceremony, but the very obvious brightness of the stars on his skin almost makes up for it.

“The birch forest?” Sehun wonders out loud. “Could she be hiding him in it?”

Jongdae shrugs. “It’s just a forest,” he says. “But it is closer to the mountains than the castle. She might have found a cave or something.”

Sehun hums. He supposes it is logical, in a way. Dahlia is known for her regular hikes into the forest and no one would think much of her going there several times a month. The birch forest is the biggest forest in Stanvaeld. It is in fact so big that it appears on every map, contrary to the many other woods in the kingdom. Birches make the most of its trees, but it truly is a place of treasures if you are looking for leaves, mushrooms and many other ingredients for concoctions. It is just a forest, though. No matter how big and confusing and impressing it is, it is just a forest. Sehun has walked through it many times before, and never has he seen anything that could help hide a winged creature.

It is not like he had foreseen Dahlia killing his mother either, so maybe he just needs to start paying better attention.

Jongdae helps him up his horse then settles on walking next to them. It is lucky that the fastest way to reach the forest is a wide plain. It usually takes less than an hour on horseback, but the snow forces them to move slowly so that Heng does not risk getting his feet caught in frozen roots or falling into snow pits Sehun always notices a beat before the impending catastrophe. Jongdae is patient and helpful, but he blacks out a lot trying to keep up with Dahlia’s progress. He makes Sehun stop every time he mentally follows the thread of his magic to her, to make sure Sehun does not risk anything during his absence, and it makes them lose a lot of time.

“This is not going to work,” Sehun groans when they finally reach the edge of the forest. When he, once again, has to pull hard on the reins to avoid a direct fall straight into a hole filled with soft snow.

Jongdae studies his face.

“Absolutely not,” he says, simply.

Sehun frowns. “You don’t know what I was about to say.”

Jongdae’s smile is amused, but mostly annoyed.

“I do. You want me to go ahead.”

“Of course I do!” Sehun snaps. He gets off Heng and starts rubbing frozen ice off his horse’s legs. Jongdae is wounded by his outburst, but it only makes him look even more tired, and Sehun chooses to focus on that rather than the emotion filling his eyes. “You can’t look after us and keep an eye on her at the same time. It is wearing you out.”

He readjusts his coat around him, a gesture he has seen his mother do so many times it comes to him naturally. It usually means, end of discussion. Of course, Jongdae completely dismisses the signal.

“I am not leaving you behind,” he immediately says.

“What if we lose her? What if we lose our only chance of getting to Astre?” Sehun asks. “I can’t mount Heng in the forest. There will be too many roots, too many branches and I will have to lead him on foot. I will be so very slow, Jongdae.” He pauses, then adds, fully knowing that his next words will grant him his victory, “Think about Baekhyun.”

Jongdae grunts. He glances at the forest then back at Sehun. His steps have been so delicate over the snow he barely sunk into it even on deeper parts. Sehun has seen him run before. If he wasn’t there to slow him down, Jongdae would have already caught up with Dahlia.

“I will keep moving,” he says, in a softer voice. Jongdae’s eyes are back on him. Their blue is tainted by worry. There’s a ring of black around his irises Sehun is pretty sure was not there when they first stopped. “You go ahead and Heng and I will follow as quickly as we can. We are behind her so we do not need to hide our tracks. I will follow yours.”

“Alright,” Jongdae agrees. He glares at the snow-covered ground with so much bitterness that Sehun almost expects the snow to melt right there and then. “I will go first. Just… do not stop walking. It is cold and the effort will help you stay warm.”

“Jongdae, I know.” Jongdae glares at him next in such a childlike manner that it makes Sehun smile. “I have grown up here. I know winter.”

Jongdae scoffs, and he would have walked away then if not for the growing concern in his eyes. He sighs then pulls Sehun’s fur hood over his head and his hands linger on Sehun’s cheeks.

“Be safe,” he says.

Sehun nods. He squeezes Jongdae’s hands with his fingers but offers absolutely no resistance when Jongdae eventually steps back.

“Take care of him,” Jongdae then says to Heng, and Sehun’s heart misses a beat when Heng _nods_. It is a simple rocking of his head, but he is sure his horse’s eyes flickered towards Jongdae. He wouldn’t even be surprised if that was the case, if it turned out Jongdae could literally speak to horses, or every other animal.

“The things you make me do,” Jongdae says, his voice heavy with a groan that struggles to come out. Sehun looks back at him. “It would be funny, really.”

_If I wasn’t so scared_ is what Sehun hears. The dark ring around Jongdae’s irises, the nervous staccato of his gestures and his very Orage way of flickering his gaze all around him all make it quite obvious. He’s the hunter – he would be the hunter in every story possible. Capable of complete silence, of bending the sky to his will and of tearing the throat of his enemies with a snap of his jaws, Jongdae has always been the hunter. He looks like a prey now, though. Sehun is the one aiming an arrow at him, this time.

“Go,” he says with a small smile. “It will be fine.”

Jongdae lets out a pained whimper, but he eventually turns around and rushes straight into the forest. He moves with such swiftness and agility that Sehun loses sight of him faster than he had expected. The birch trees are not so close to one another that they block his eyesight – Jongdae is just gone before Sehun can blink away the image of him leaving. He sighs to himself.

“Alright, then,” he says. “Let us go, Heng.” 

He glances at the sky. It was clear and completely blue when they left earlier in the morning. Now that the sun is already starting its course down to the horizon, its timid light is emphasizing the thickness of the clouds spilling from behind the mountains. 

“You have taken my father,” he adds as he starts walking again, Heng’s reins in his hand. The snow is so deep that he stops trying to pull his feet out of it to instead use his shins and knees to clear himself a path. “You have taken my mother.” He reaches out and grabs the first trunk to help himself through a particularly deep patch of snow. “You are entitled to my soul. I have offered it to you many years ago and it is yours to take when my time is due.” He sighs and catches his breath. The birch trees are too high and too thin, their foliage is too frail and they are not packed in enough that they have stopped the snow from overflowing the forest soil. It is as deep here as it was over the plain. He pauses and looks up at the sky. “All I ask is for some divine mercy. Just a few hours without snow.”

If he tilts his head on the side, the bare branches of the closest trees against the heavy white of the sky look like wide grins with too many teeth.

“May the deities hear me,” Sehun whispers.

He looks down and starts walking again.

It starts snowing less than an hour later. The sight of the first few snowflakes fills Sehun with more annoyance than despair. He glances at the sky and wraps himself deeper into his coat, determined to not mind and pretend like it is not happening. Which is a thought long, dark fingers might have plucked out of his mind without his knowledge, because the snow quickly turns into a full on storm. Before Sehun knows it, he cannot see five steps before him – or five steps behind him. The wind is howling into his ears, playing tricks with his clothes and scratching what little patches of skin it can find. Heng grows nervous at his side.

Sehun finds a temporary cover under a couple of fallen trunks. He ties Heng’s reins to it then crawls into this makeshift den. He quickly tightens the laces around his shins and arms to make sure his clothes remain tightly wrapped around his limbs then undoes his belt to pass it over his heavy winter coat. It will help keep it close.

He pauses before stepping out of his makeshift shelter. He knows he has to make a few decisions, and he has to do it quickly. There is no way he will still be able to follow Jongdae’s trail with all that wind and snow, and yet, he finds the idea of staying behind and waiting quite repulsive. Dahlia already managed to take out a Beast Rider – and Sehun struggles to imagine Baekhyun as anything other than a fierce opponent. He has Heng he needs to worry about too, and this is actually within his power for now, so he focuses on his horse instead. He steps out of his den then starts rubbing Heng’s fur to try and warm up his muscles. He can barely see his fingers, so he half-blindingly follows the laces holding Heng’s blankets all over his back to make sure they are still secure.

“What a terrible walk, isn’t it, boy?” he says.

He unties Heng’s reins and starts wrapping them around his wrist so that the wind will not steal them away from him. He stops before he completes his task though.

He does not even waste time hoping the blizzard will catch Dahlia by surprise as well, and maybe rush her to demise. She was born in Frimas, and she lived the first fifteen years of her life there. Stanvaeld people are used to harsh winters. Frimas people spend seven months a year in the snow. It probably has not even slowed her down.

Jongdae is alone out there, and Sehun intimately knows he cannot turn back without finding him first. He cannot force Heng to walk deeper into a blizzard either. He blinks at the reins then untie them from his wrist.

“Find your way back home,” he screams at Heng through the wind. Heng looks at him completely at loss, but panic has started to work its way into his eyes, and it breaks Sehun’s heart. “Go!” He smacks his rear and the gesture is unusual enough that it finishes to set him off into hysteria. He neighs loudly, glares at Sehun then takes off in a whirl of snowflakes.

Heng is brave and smart. He was born in the stables in the castle, and he grew up in them. The castle is his home. He is a royal horse, born from a long line of rare breeding. He will find his way back with no struggle, and Sehun trusts him to be careful of the ground and to mind his steps. One time, Sehun fell off his back when a hare darted off just before them and Heng left him lying there. He was back in the stables way before Sehun. He will be fine. It does not mean that Sehun does not feel terrible about it.

He has to move because the storm turns him into a giant ice sculpture though. He lowers his head to protect his face from the icy touch of the wind and powers through. The wind is numbing his senses, but it somehow makes it easier for him to think. So he thinks. He lists everything he knows. He draws connections and reaches conclusions he fully trusts. He has seen the storm coming. The wind started slow and although it quickly grew stronger, it kept blowing in the same direction. Sehun cannot see no trail anymore, but he walked a little over an hour following Jongdae’s, and they seemed to lead him north of the forest. The wind is blowing from the north-west. As long as it crashes against Sehun’s left shoulder first before spreading to the rest of his body, he should be walking in the right direction. 

It quickly gets darker around him. In addition to the thick clouds, the sun is too low in winter to remain over the horizon line during the whole day. It is probably not that late, but the efforts of walking in the middle of a snowstorm mixed with the darkness creeping around him tire Sehun quicker than what he would have liked. He tries to huddle behind a larger pine tree to catch his breath and calm the incessant shivering of his muscles, but he soon realises that walking remains his best option in the absence of a better shelter. He uses all of his logic to back up this decision. He does not even lose face when some distant part of him, buried deep in his mind, wonders if he truly thinks so or if he is just really eager to find Jongdae. It’s logic, he tells himself. Just pure logic. He is quite good at it. And Jongdae is good with magic. He will be fine. He _is_ fine.

“Are you?” he asks. He barely hears his own words. His voice is swept away by the wind before it can fully bloom into the air. Sehun pauses and straightens his neck to take a look around him. “Jongdae, are you alright?” 

He is not sure how the magic works. He knows Jongdae hears many more things than a basic human does, but will hear this? Will he hear his own name if Sehun is the one saying it? He lifts his face and faces the anger of the wind.

“Because I am,” he screams into the void. The void screams back at him. “Keep going! Find Astre! I am fine!”

He needs to find a place to sit out the storm, but wandering around would be too dangerous. He could try and find his way back to the little hole under the fallen trunks, but he half expects it to be filled with snow by now. He does not see much, which makes his list of options incredibly short. Sitting under a pine tree might be the safest one. He just has to find one wide enough to offer him true relief from the wind.

He turns around, mindful of keeping the wind against his right shoulder blade. He knows he passed a bunch of pine trees some time ago, because he could hear the wind ruffling through their needles – birch trees lose their leaves in autumn. They are close enough that he has an honest chance of finding his way back to them. It’s logical. Practical. It’s the best Sehun can do.

He takes a first tentative step in what he truly believes is the right direction when something – no, _someone_ \- crashes against his back. It sends him off his balance and he nearly falls over, but two arms secure him almost right away, and Sehun would recognise that touch anywhere.

“Jongdae!” he calls. He doesn’t hear his voice, but Jongdae must have, because he whirls him around.

Thanks to the remaining faint light, Sehun sees him move his lips and he guesses Jongdae is trying to tell him something, but the storm steals it away. He frowns and shakes his head, but Jongdae does not seem to mind. He takes a look over his shoulder then grabs Sehun’s shoulders to force him to kneel down. Sehun obliges, and Jongdae follows suit. He wraps his arms around Sehun again and pulls him close, as close as possible despite the snow already building up around them, his body shielding Sehun from the strongest guffs of wind. Jongdae’s hair is covered with snowflakes and it feels crisp against Sehun’s cheek, his curls completely frozen.

“Do not move,” Jongdae’s voice says directly into his ear, yet distant and frail.

Sehun freezes. He tries to listen for any sign of danger, but just like his eyes, his ears have been rendered useless by the blizzard. He does his best to keep both his breathing and shivering under control though, because he can feel Jongdae’s tension building up against him. Whatever _he_ hears or sees, he obviously does not like it.

Jongdae puts a hand on the back of Sehun’s head and Sehun follows the gesture. He buries his face in the crook of Jongdae’s neck to hide away. He thinks he hears some rumbling. He thinks he sees a large shadow rushing by, barely a couple of feet away from them. The tension in Jongdae’s muscles immediately relaxes. He quickly gets back on his feet and helps Sehun, taking off the blocks of packed snow that have stuck to Sehun’s knees himself. Then he grabs his hand and dashes through the wind, dragging Sehun behind him.

He must have walked towards the north east more than what he thought, because they walk out of the forest quicker than he had expected. It takes them a short hour, but an hour nonetheless. They are closer to the mountains than they were when they entered the forest, and their height weakens the wind. It is still blowing, and it is still snowing, but Sehun can see a bit better now, and he can hear Jongdae.

“Where is Heng?” Jongdae asks.

Sehun tries not to look too shaken. “I had to let him go!” he says – screams. “I thought it would be better for him to turn around! What about you? What happened?”

Jongdae takes it upon himself to check on Sehun’s laces over his arms and legs.

“She turned around when the wind picked up. She is riding a Frimas horse, and they are not scared of a little snowstorm, so she was going really fast. I could hear you.” His eyes flicker to Sehun’s face as he pulls on one of his sleeves to cover more of his glove. “She almost ran into you.”

“I thought I saw something when we were in the snow… It was her?”

Jongdae nods. He kneels down and checks Sehun’s left leg.

“But did you find Astre?”

His hands stop over Sehun’s knee. Sehun can barely feel his touch through the thick layers of his winter clothes, but he tries really hard to make out the sensation of Jongdae’s joints pressing against the back of his knee.

“She turned around,” Jongdae says plainly.

Sehun may not feel his touch when he gently pushes Sehun’s right leg away to then grab the left one. He may not hear anything other than the wind or see much further, but he does not miss the despair in Jongdae’s voice or the absolute sadness in his eyes.

“I am sorry,” he says. Jongdae keeps tightening the lace over his ankle. Sehun clears his throat. “Jongdae, I am so sorry.”

Jongdae lets go of Sehun’s leg, but he does not get back up on his feet. His robe doesn’t even look black anymore because of all the snow that is sticking to him. Sehun buries his gloved fingers in his hair, his own despair magnifying alongside Jongdae’s. He leans in and wraps his arms around Jongdae back to shield him from the storm. He holds Jongdae’s head against his stomach and leaves a small, frozen kiss on his temple.

“I am sorry,” he repeats. 

Jongdae gives in to Sehun’s embrace, even if only for a few minutes. He huddles against his legs and lets himself be held until an awfully violent shiver shakes Sehun from his head to toes. Jongdae pulls away, accepts Sehun’s hand as support to get back on his feet and evades Sehun’s eyes for a bit longer while he rubs off the snow from his robe. Half of his hair has slipped out of the red ribbon, which now falls over one of his shoulders, tangled in a few curls and feathers, and _also_ covered with ice. There is no moonlight, no bright stars to help Sehun see, so he can only wonder at the shadows on Jongdae’s face, and this makes for the worst possible game of imagination. He thinks he keeps seeing bruises and scratches all over his face. He thinks Jongdae looks terribly thin, his cheeks awfully hollow. Logic says he is compensating what he cannot see with fear and too many emotions, but Sehun is not listening.

“We should go back now,” he says. He takes Jongdae’s wrist to draw his attention back to him. “We should go back, Jongdae.”

Jongdae nods. He glances at the sky and makes a face. He scoots closer to Sehun to help guide him across the plain. If the walk in broad daylight and under a clear sky was already a hassle, it is soon very clear that they are about to face worse, but they face it together. It was quite annoying for Sehun to face his own plainness earlier, when it was mostly about his foot catching on a few roots here and there, but the thought is laced with helplessness now. He does not have to like Baekhyun much to want to hold his promise, to realise the tragedy in how Dahlia wronged him. Sehun took every decision that led them here on his own and he shoved them in front of Jongdae and Baekhyun. And Sejun. And now, he is walking in the snow, completely blind and deaf, after having spent many hours walking through a forest, also completely blind and deaf. He acted like a King alright. He demanded and ordered and decided, but when it was eventually time to take action, he fell short.

“I am sorry,” he says again when he realises he can see the castle lights between two gusts of snow.

Jongdae glances at him. His grip on Sehun’s hand is solid and it has saved Sehun from more embarrassing falls countless times. Yet he somehow manages to make it gentle, and it is that gentleness that transpires a bit more in the way he squeezes Sehun’s fingers between his.

“Do not be. We will find him. Tomorrow, I will follow Dahlia around. She has to make a mistake at some point. I will be there to catch it.”

“You are not supposed to be seen in the castle, Jongdae.”

Jongdae nods. “I know.” He smiles, but it’s small and tired. “I can be quite discreet.”

Sehun chuckles, the sound barely enough to overpower the wind, which has calmed down to a constant growl. The worst of the storm is behind them. It’ll reach the keep soon, but for now, it has gotten stuck in the nearing mountains, sucked in by altitudes and gorges. It makes walking a bit easier, and they gain a bit more speed. Thankfully.

“You definitely can.” He pauses. “I am sorry,” he adds.

Logic tells him today was a total failure. Pragmatism tells him he made a terrible mistake. His common sense fills him with regrets and fears. He stops, and Jongdae turns to him.

“I know,” he says. He does not let go of Sehun’s hand. “I am sorry, too.”

“You don’t need to be sorry.”

Jongdae smiles. “I have plenty of things to be sorry for.” He gently pulls at Sehun’s hand to make him walk again. “I am sorry that your mother died. I should have been able to stop it. I am sorry for not finding Baekhyun earlier. I am sorry for not realising what Dahlia was up to. I am also quite sorry, to be honest, for making you fly back from the Bay and letting you almost freeze to death. I am sorry for not bringing you to the stars earlier. I am sorry for –”

“Well, I am sorry for following you around when we were little,” Sehun interrupts him. Jongdae glances at him and he challenges him with a glare. “That must have been quite annoying.”

“No,” Jongdae says, and his smile already feels a tad bit more genuine. “It made me feel not so lonely. I was sad when you stopped.”

“My mother…” Sehun starts. Then he pauses and sighs ruefully. “I am sorry about that too, I guess.”

Jongdae chuckles.

“Is there something you are not sorry for?”

Sehun’s first thought, again, is logical and practical. It makes sense. It actually makes so much sense that it grounds him. If the snow and the wind were to throw him off his balance, he would find rock-solid ground under his feet again thanks to this thought. He is from Stanvaeld. He should know. Dark stone never breaks.

“I am not sorry for kissing you,” he says.

Jongdae keeps quiet for a little while, although his fingers tighten around Sehun’s hand.

“I am not sorry I kissed you back either,” he eventually says, his eyes still on the castle.

Sehun smiles. He entangles his and Jongdae’s fingers, just so that he can link them instead. It makes for a way weaker grip, but he likes that it awakens the ghost sensation of Jongdae’s fingers exploring his hands and hat is one more thing he is not sorry for. Even if he almost immediately stumbles because of the lack of support. Jongdae chuckles next to him, but he does not comment. He keeps his fingers between Sehun’s but scoots even closer to make up for the loss of practicality. And common sense.

“I hope Heng is alright,” Sehun says.

“I am sure he is.”

They have to let go of the other before coming into view of the soldiers guarding the gate. Jongdae has made sure that Sehun walked fast enough that he wouldn’t be too cold, and Sehun might not be freezing, he still is looking forward to sitting in front of a very large fire.

“I’ll see you on the other side,” Jongdae says. “I will use my own way in.”

Sehun snorts. “I do not think I will be able to hide into my room right away. I will surely be needed somewhere.”

“It’s alright. I will follow you. I always know where you are.”

Sehun smiles, because Jongdae’s tone is teasing and laced with mischief, but there’s truth in it they both acknowledge with a quiet look. Jongdae clasps Sehun’s hands in his before leaning in to press a soft kiss on Sehun’s lips. It’s so cold and Sehun’s skin has grown numb because of the wind, but he feels Jongdae’s icy lips against his anyway. It is gentle and barely there, but it lights him up from within nonetheless and everything inside him rushes to nest around the sensation. He pulls a hand out of Jongdae’s hold and curls it on his neck so that Jongdae will linger against his lips, so that he has a chance to fully feel that kiss. Dahlia is gone, the storm on their heels, the miserable failure of the day, everything is gone. It truly is a breath-taking sensation to feel so much happiness when you are surrounded by so much sadness and misery, and yet, Sehun thrives in the tension. Jongdae lets out a little sigh against his lips and suddenly it does not matter that much if he never stops Dahlia or if he messes up every tradition and becomes the worst King there ever was. It really does not.

“Your skin is really cold,” Jongdae mumbles. He presses his cheek against Sehun’s and Sehun can feel the pull of his muscles as he smiles. “I will see you later.”

Sehun nods. He lets go of him and stands under the snow as Jongdae retreats into the darkness, to make his way to whatever incredible passage he has found over the curtain wall.

The last time Sehun is truly happy, he is standing in the middle of a snow storm. He does not think much about it. It is gone before he knows it. The last time he saw his mother, she was sitting in her bed and he did not think much about it either. He should have remembered that. He does not.

He manages to reach the gate with more ease than he walked down the slope earlier in the day. The fresh layer of snow helps quite a lot on the icy cobbled street. Sehun guesses it’ll snow even more when the storm will finally reach the castle – which shouldn’t take long now, because the wind is already picking up – which will lead to a whole new cycle of clearing the snow, slipping on the ice, enjoying fresh snow then staying inside as it builds up, and doing it all again over and over until spring deigns breaking through the low, thick sky of winter. It will take months, though. For now, they’ll have to do with snow.

“Great Prince?”

Sehun recognises the voice of the seasoned soldier that was with Yerim when he left earlier in the day, yet when he looks around, he finds no sign of her. He does not look too much though because the soldier appears to be quite nervous. He leaves his post to rush to Sehun when the latter reaches the gate.

“Great Prince?” he says again, and Sehun guesses what happened before he has a chance to continue. “Your horse…”

“Is Heng already here?” Sehun asks.

He tries to sound calm, amused even. He can imagine the ruckus Heng coming back to the castle without him could make and plans to do everything in his power to avoid the situation to slip past his control and merge into a case of politics.

The soldier nods. He was quite laid back earlier, he is now fully panicking.

“I am alright,” Sehun immediately says. “I just fell and Heng left me. I am not even hurt. Where is my horse, soldier?”

“Uh?” the man stutters. Sehun can see him slightly deflate. His military training quickly overpowers the fear he must have felt when Heng showed up at the gate without any rider, and he falls back into a more formal stance and controlled composure. “Yerim is taking it to the stables right now. It got here only a few minutes before you, your Royal Highness.” He pauses and hesitates. “I have ordered her to immediately warn Captain Tien once the horse is taken care of.”

Sehun pretends his heart does not fly into his chest.

“It is alright,” he says. “You have honoured your duty. I will talk to Tien myself and see that you are replaced tonight. There is a storm coming and I want you to spend the night inside, where it’s warm and bright.”

The soldier immediately bows. “Thank you, Great Prince.”

Sehun smiles but he does not bow or salute the guard. He tries to walk as calmly as possible, for he knows the soldier is watching him, but he cannot stop from counting the seconds in his head as he does so. If Tien is alerted by Yerim, and even if he manages to calm her before it blows over the rest of the keep, he will have to answer many more questions than he is ready to acknowledge. Surely, the topic will be raised during the next Council meeting, and Sehun expects more laws, more rules, more traditions to suddenly stand between him and the outside for the rest of the winter. He already has too many battles to fight without needing to add one more frontline to his battlefield.

He does not curse the deities, but he glares at the sky and trusts their mighty divinity to understand what he intends to say anyway. Thankfully, the stables are built in the outer ward and Sehun does not have to cross another gate to get there.

“Yerim?” he calls as soon as he steps inside the main building.

“Great Prince?” Yerim’s head pops out of a box stall. “Great Prince!”

She rushes out of the box, immediately followed by a stable boy still carrying Heng’s winter blanket. Brave girl, Sehun thinks. She probably decided to make sure his horse would be taken care of before getting to Tien. All in all, it is a poor decision when in urgent situations, and Sehun would not have been so quick to forgive her if it had been Sejun’s horse and his little brother lost in a snowstorm, but for now he’ll mostly focus on the great service she unknowingly did to him.

“You are safe! We were worried! I was about to go and tell Captain Tien,” Yerim says. She blushes then bows, once again taken over by her emotions. Oh, Tien will hate her for that, she will hate Sehun even more for asking Yerim to be a part of his guard, but she’ll get used to it eventually. “Great Prince,” Yerim adds, in a feeble attempt at sticking to the military manners she was taught.

“I am alright,” Sehun says. He nods both to her and the stable boy. “Will you go to the kitchen and ask Cook to prepare something warm for me? I fell in the snow and although I bear no injuries, I am quite cold.”

“Both of us?” the stable boy asks, confused. The kitchen is Cook’s territory and her orders more often than not weigh heavier there. The stables are the stable mistress’ kingdom. He knows he will risk disobeying her more than Sehun, and Sehun suspects he is to watch on the beasts throughout the night.

“Both of you,” Sehun nods. “And have something for yourself too. Tell Cook I am asking her and she cannot refuse. Once you are warmed up, you will come back and honour your duties. I,” he holds out his hands towards the blanket, “will take care of Heng in the meantime.”

It is the promise of food – it is _always_ the promise of food – that breaks their resolve. Yerim and the stable boy exchange a look, their status long forgotten. She nods and he seems to accept her agreement as something he cannot avoid.

“Very well,” he says. He puts the blanket on Sehun’s hand. “Thank you, Great Prince.”

“Thank you,” Yerim repeats.

She bows and the stable boy tries to copy her, but he is unused to such formalities. In the stables, he takes orders and leaves to act on them right away. He has no time to lose for niceties, but he is apparently willing to try if warm food is what he gets in return. Sehun holds the blanket against his chest as he watches them leave, a wave of relief shaking him from head to toe. He would not have stood a chance against an older soldier and the stable mistress. How he got himself out of this, he will wonder very late into the night, but what matters is that he did. It should be fine now. Catastrophe averted.

“Alright, Heng,” he says, joining his horse into his box. “Brave, brave friend.” 

Heng is happy to see him, and he lets himself be pampered without opposing any resistance. Sehun checks his hooves for good measure, although he knows Heng is examined and taken care of every day. He just feels guilty, and there is nothing better than love to make up for terrible, terrible deeds.

“Told you he was alright,” Jongdae singsongs behind him.

Sehun whirls around, his heart thundering in his chest. Heng looks at both of them with the annoyed eyes of a horse who had a really rough day and would very much like to sleep now.

“By the deities, Jongdae,” Sehun groans.

“You say that a lot, you know,” Jongdae says with a sparkle in his voice.

He is still standing in the aisle between the boxes, still covered with snow and yet, he looks completely unfazed by the day of failures they had. Sehun supposes growing up in a kingdom that somehow hates you will do that to you. Stanvaeld people are great builders, but Jongdae is every bit as good as the best of them. His façade goes up and down in a matter of seconds.

“Because you scare me a lot,” Sehun grumbles.

He turns around to finish brushing the tangles out of Heng’s mane, but the stallion has very obviously grown tired of the attention. He pulls away to focus his interest on the very large pile of hay in the back of his box. Sehun puts the brush away, a rush of guilt constricting his heart. He promises himself to come visit Heng every day now. He has a lot to make up for.

“Dahlia is in the common room,” Jongdae says. Sehun draws back his attention on him. “I can feel her,” he adds in a sombre tone.

“They are probably playing dice before dinner,” Sehun says with a nod.

He rubs the dirt out of his hands and steps out of Heng’s box. Jongdae stands still as Sehun pushes the wooden door and checks a couple of times that it is correctly latched close. He watches his hand on the surface of the door for a few seconds.

“I do not want to…” Sehun sighs and turns to Jongdae. “I do not want to go in there and pretend like I do not know. It is getting harder and harder.”

“I know,” Jongdae says. “I know.”

Sehun studies his face in silence. Jongdae grabs his hand and pulls him closer. He gestures at one of the boxes.

“We could play a little with your mother’s horse. I am sure she will like the visit. She must feel quite lonely now.”

“We could,” Sehun says with a nod.

Jongdae gently bumps into him as they make their way towards the larger box the Queen’s mare is kept in. When Sehun will be crowned, Heng will probably be moved there. As for Liàn, she will have to get used to a calmer life. She will probably be used for breeding, and birth many beautiful foals who will grow into great horses, like their mother. Liàn was never scared of the battlefield. The smell of blood, the sound of swords clashing… she would charge into everything the Queen wanted her to without so much as flinch. Just like her rider was, she is a true leader, made for battles and glory.

“I wonder how Dahlia made sure that my mother would fall that day,” Sehun says as Jongdae helps him slide the heavy door of the box open.

“Well, magic,” Jongdae says with a shrug. “Baekhyun…”

“I know, I know,” Sehun interrupts him. “She was not there in the castle when it happened though. She had left for a trip to Marisk’s herb market.”

Jongdae stops to look at him, but Sehun does not pay attention. The door is really heavier than he expected, and it looks like there is something stuck under it. He tries to dig it out with the tip of his shoe.

“Baekhyun did say he was always with her, so I suppose he left with her that day. Yet, my mother fell and all the healer had to do was use the cursed unguent.”

“I did not know she had left.”

Sehun looks up from what he has identified to be a rock to look at Jongdae. He frowns upon meeting Jongdae’s eyes. He is frozen on the spot as though the snowstorm had reached him after the fact, as though his body had powered through ice and darkness without minding it but was now fully realizing what had happened. Sehun immediately stands up as fear like he has so rarely known it, swoops down on him.

“Jongdae, what’s going on?”

Jongdae is still watching him with eyes wide open and his stillness is tense, terrifying to witness. Sehun lets go of the door to hold out a hand towards him, and his attempt to touch him seems to break Jongdae out of his shock. He snaps back into focus, turns towards the door and slides it open with a simple push of his hands.

“Liàn will know,” he says. “Liàn will know what happened. She will tell me.”

Sehun follows Jongdae into the box.

“What do you mean?”

Jongdae ignores him. He rushes to Liàn, completely unaware of Sehun’s growing fear, or the mare’s startling shiver as she takes them in. He forces himself into her space with little care for her growing nervousness, and Sehun’s fear swells up in his chest. Jongdae reaches out to place his hands on either side of Liàn’s long face, but Sehun stops him by grabbing one of his wrists.

Jongdae’s gaze snaps to him. His eyes are of a dwindling blue constantly shifting between dark and light hues.

“I need to talk to Liàn,” he tells Sehun. “Baekhyun has told me the same thing many times. He would always follow Dahlia around. He told me she enjoyed taking his freedom away. He told me it made him feel lesser than a pet to her.” He pulls his wrist away. “He told me, Sehun. He told me he followed her everywhere she went.”

Jongdae looks back towards the horse, his fingers trembling. Sehun thinks he sees something ripple over the constellations on his skin, but the light is too dim in the stable, and his heart is beating too fast. He is just scared. He does not understand. So he drops his hand and lets Jongdae press his palms against Liàn’s face. He does not even wonder about the magic behind it. He does not even try to understand it. He just stands there, scared to his bones, because Jongdae is scared too.

“Tell me,” Jongdae says to Liàn. “Tell me about that day, when --” He stops with a groan and presses a hand on his constellation. The stars on his skin are definitely glowing, and it is getting brighter by the second. “Tell me,” he starts again, but the rest of his sentence dies down in another whimper.

“Jongdae?”

Sehun breaks out of his fear-struck stance as Jongdae takes a step back and starts feeling the constellations on his temples with trembling fingers.

“Jongdae, what’s wrong?”

Jongdae swallows down a pained moan. He presses his hands harder against his cheeks, his eyes wide and terrified. Blue bleeds away from his pupils into the white of his eyes and his irises crack open to reveal more of the glow that seems to be filling him from the inside. Sehun cups his face.

“Jongdae!”

“Something is wrong,” Jongdae says, and his voice is broken, distant. Darkness fills his mouth, hides away his teeth and trickles down his chin. Sehun swipes a thumb over it. It’s cold. Thick. It’s blood. “Something’s wrong,” Jongdae repeats.

He tries to scratch at the stars on his skin, his fingers like claws and Sehun has to push them away. The horses are neighing and bumping into the walls of their boxes in desperate attempts to flee from whatever is building up inside Jongdae. Liàn is the only one with the wide open door, and she understands it quickly. She rears up, her hooves immediately turning into deadly weapons, and Sehun presses Jongdae against him so she does not trample him over. She bumps into them when she runs out of her box though, but there is enough hay on the ground to cushion their fall.

Sehun immediately gets on his knees. Jongdae is trembling on the floor, coughing out more blood and radiating even more light. His skin is cracking everywhere now, like the earth sometimes does when the deities are furious, but instead of fire or steam spilling out of the cracks, Jongdae bleeds out light. It’s spreading all over him, like intricate reproductions of lightning bolts, and it’s burning him, tearing him apart. Sehun does not know when he started crying, because he only realises it when one of his tears falls on Jongdae’s face and immediately disappears in a tiny whirl of steam. He tries to block the light with his hands, tries to hold Jongdae together, tries not to see the pain, the horror, swelling in Jongdae’s eyes.

“Please, Jongdae. Please,” he sobs when Jongdae turns to spill more blood all over the hay. He makes to wrap himself all around him, determined to use his body in every way possible, but Jongdae stops him by grabbing his arm. His touch is burning, painful. Sehun can feel the blisters swelling all over his flesh.

“Orage,” Jongdae croaks out. “It’s Orage.”

The light turns solid in a way light should never be solid. It goes through Jongdae in the blink of an eye, lighting him up from within, pressing the image of his veins and bones into Sehun’s mind, then it reaches his face and everything freezes for a very short second. Sehun barely has the time to gasp. Then the light swells and swallows every corner of the stables in a clap of thunder. It burns everything. It erases everything. Sehun cannot see, he cannot hear. He cannot feel Jongdae under his hands anymore, and when he opens his mouth to scream, his voice is soundless, gone. He wonders if he died. He thinks he can feel the scratches of divine fingers tearing at his flesh. He can taste the blood. It tastes like a smithy, it tastes like metal in his mouth. He wonders if it is his blood he is swallowing down, or Jongdae’s. The thought shakes him to his core and he turns away to throw up.

The world shifts back into focus. He still can’t see at the edge of his field of vision and everything is too bright, but he makes out shapes and colours. He blinks a few times as he spits more of the bile burning the back of his throat on the ground. The hay is blackened as though it had been stored too close to a huge fire. There’s a whistling sound in his ears and it’s painful, but not lethal. He can hear himself cry and choke.

He turns back to Jongdae and his heart stops in his chest.

“Jongdae?” Sehun presses his hands against Jongdae’s chest and squeezes a few times. Jongdae does not react. His eyes are closed and his skin is so pale it looks like glass. Sehun can see the bluish taint of his larger veins, he can see delicate burn marks where the light tore his flesh apart, and it looks like thunderbolts. He is warm to the touch, hot, even. There’s so much blood on his chin, so much blood flowing down his cheeks and into his hair.

Sehun has seen that before. His mother’s face, dead, and her blood drying in her hair, like a cursed halo around her head.

“Jongdae!” he shouts. His voice rasps against his throat. He grabs Jongdae’s shoulders and shakes him as hard as he can. Jongdae’s head lolls around, but his eyes remain shut. “No!” He leans down and presses his ear against Jongdae’s chest, but he cannot hear anything else other than the whistle left by the explosion of light, even when he clenches his hands on the ground and scratches at the wood and screams to try and break through the haze around him.

_It’s Orage_.  
Is she dead?

Is Jongdae dead?

Sehun sits up. He licks his lips. It’s bitter, ferrous. When he looks down at his hands, they are trembling but it will have to do. It will do.

“Please,” he cries. He loses his weak plea in the never ending whistling sound. “Please.”

He tries to calm the spasms going through his right hand by curling it into a ball and pressing it tight against his forehead. “Please,” he says again in a whisper. He almost hears it this time. It bounces on his own arm and comes back to him. He shuts his eyes for a few seconds then clears his throat. His fingers are still unsure, still shaking, but it will have to do.

He opens his eyes and takes Jongdae’s right hand to press a few kisses over his joints. His skin is so warm it feels foreign against Sehun’s lips. He loses a bit more of his eyesight – at least he thinks he does, but it is not until he blinks and more tears flow down his cheeks that he understands he is just crying. This fills him with great relief. He can do with trembling fingers, but he will definitely need eyes that can see.

He lays Jongdae’s hand on his chest and squeezes it before getting back up on his feet. He cannot hear the rest of the horses. Maybe they are dead, too. Maybe everything in the stables is dead, and the deities only granted Sehun with more time so that he could achieve one last thing. He walks out of the building but the darkness outside takes him by surprise and he has to pause for a few seconds to try and see through the crystalline haze overlapping his eyesight. When he deems it enough, he brings his trembling fingers to the guard of his sword, and he draws it out.

He walks to the second gate. He walks through it, even. Someone says something to him. Someone possibly shouts something at him. Some hand tries to close around his shoulder, and Sehun has to pull away, to push and shove to break free. He does. His fingers are growing strong around the hilt of his sword. The tip of his blade drags on the floor, sending welcomed vibrations up his arm then down his chest. It clashes against the whistling noise in his ears, clashes with the beating of his heart, and it fills him with so much anger and rage that he blacks out for a little while. He does not realise he has reached the castle before someone grabs him by the shoulders to stop him.

Sehun immediately pulls away.

“Great Prince? You’re bleeding! What is happening? Are you alright?”

The voice is distant, but familiar. Sehun has to blink a few times to focus on it. Cheng’s large eyes are watching him with concern and maybe fear as well.

“I do not want anyone to go into the stables,” Sehun says. Cheng frowns. His face is so close. “This is an order,” Sehun adds.

He walks around Cheng and makes his way to the dining room. The keep was simply built . Black stone is a great material, but it allows little to no artistic freedom. The curves and intricate carvings of the Bay are foreign to the building here. Hallways, corridors, common rooms – it is logic that has dictated their situation. Traditions require for any guest in the castle to be warmly greeted. Traditions require that any guest could walk inside the keep and find themselves sat at a long table, in front of many delicious dishes in a matter of minutes. Traditions have decided, and who is Sehun to rise against them? He shall follow the entrance hall straight into the dining room without any shortcuts. His fingers tighten around his sword. He is burning.

The double doors are wide open. There’s laughter coming from inside the room, and it’s so high and unaware, so pleased and content that it takes a few seconds of Sehun dragging his sword across the stone floor for some silence to settle down. He stops at the centre of the room. He knows he is still shaking. His breath comes out in broken huffs. It will have to do.

He looks up.

“What did you do to him?”

Dahlia watches him with wide eyes. Even sitting down, she looks taller than what she is. Her long hair is tied at the base of her head rather than the usual hairdos people wear in Stanvaeld. Oh, she is beautiful alright. There’s so much of Frimas in her, from her round cheeks to the silvery hues in her hair, and yet, she lives in Stanvaeld. Yet, she swore loyalty to Stanvaeld’s Queen. Sehun will kill her as such. As one of his people, one of his mother’s closest friends. He will make it personal and intimate. He will watch every last drop of blood leave her body.

He raises his sword and aims its tip at her.

“What did you do to him?!” he screams.

The rest of the crowd erupts into shocked gasps and yelps, and it only fuels Sehun’s anger. Danger comes at them, and they don’t even recognise it. They just stand there and watch, most of them probably thinking about how they will tell the story to their friends later.

“Great Prince,” Dahlia starts, and he hates the calm in her voice. He hates that she looks at him with the same stillness she carries around every day. “I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about.”

“You don’t?!” Sehun says. “Don’t you, Dahlia? Do not take me for a fool. I know. I know what you have –”

Sehun stops. There is blood trickling down Dahlia’s chin. Only a few drops, but it’s there. She presses her napkin against it instinctively, because it is not _polite_ to have food on your chin, but when she takes in what’s on her napkin, she looks up at Sehun, dumbfounded.

“Lady Dahlia? Is that blood?” someone says, and another rumour of shocked gasps rise from the crowd.

Dahlia watches Sehun, and Sehun watches her, confused. She frowns, then winces before putting her hand in front of her mouth to try and hide her cough. No one sees the way it distorts her face for a split second, but she cannot hide the blood now flowing down her chin. Her body tenses as a spasm goes through her and forces her eyes shut for a second. She grabs the table for support and looks at Sehun with terrified eyes. Tears of blood are already filling them.

“It can’t be,” Sehun whispers. He lowers his sword, in complete shock.

“By the deities, it is poison!” someone screams, and then everyone is screaming.

Some plates of delicate pastries are thrown on the floor. Someone actually falls over the table. They all immediately step away from Dahlia, terrified at the idea of touching her, and Dahlia is left alone on her seat, seized by more spasms and blood cascading down her face from her mouth, her eyes, her nose. Sehun has never seen her so scared. Dahlia, the lady of metal, the merciless blade, the ghost of every battlefield, has probably never _been_ so scared. Sehun drops his blade and rushes towards her.

“Stop him!” a voice shouts above the background commotion.

Pain, sharp and bright, blooms in Sehun’s side. He trips and falls flat on his face as it spreads inside him. He lets out a groan and immediately looks up towards Dahlia. She is watching him with wide, pleading eyes as she chokes on her own blood and holds on to the table for support. The front of her dress is soaked in blood. Sehun looks down at the source of his pain and finds blood again, except this time, it is his. He looks at his fingers, then at the arrow jutting out of his side.

Silence fills the room. Everybody seems to have fallen into quiet stupor. All Sehun hears is the gurgling sounds coming from Dahlia’s throat, the whistling in his ears and his own ragged breathing. He looks up.

“Sejun?”

His little brother is standing at the door, flanked by two men Sehun recognises as King Alimayu, from Marisk, and King Amir, from Burgh. He bumps into the arrow shaft while trying to stop the bleeding and this sends another jolt of pain straight to his head. He blinks to try and make sense of what he thinks he is seeing. There are soldiers around the three men, some from Marisk, some from Burgh, and others from Stanvaeld – Jiao, the one who hates Jongdae so much, is there. She is holding a bow.

“Sejun, what –”

He is interrupted by the sound of Dahlia’s body hitting the ground. He can still see her face under the table, and she can still see him. Their eyes meet, but he doesn’t think she knows she is looking at him, because there’s too much blood on her face now, and the spasms are so violent she knocks her head against the stone-cold floor several times in a row. Sehun swallows down another groan of pain.

“Help her,” he tells Sejun. “She…”

“Do you want _me_ to help her?” Sejun cuts him. He gestures at his soldier to lower her bow. “You should not have tried to kill her if you wanted her to live, my brother.” He lifts his head so that the rest of his words will travel all around the room. Sehun has always admired his skills with the court nobles. Sejun knows how to make speeches, he knows how to be listened to. Everyone always leans in to hear him when he talks, because Sejun’s words are gold. Sehun has always admired that in him. “You tried to dispose of her like you did our mother!”

Sehun stares. Rumours and gasps rise all around him. Faces merge together, colours, names. Dahlia agonises on the floor. He watches Sejun, his blood warm between his fingers. Sejun watches him back, glory and victory in his eyes. He looks so cold.

“What are you saying,” Sehun whispers. No one hears him. He was never good with crowds. “Sejun, please… What are you saying?”

“He has spent the last week arguing with Lady Dahlia!” someone screams on the side. Sehun recognises Sun’s voice. His twin brother immediately joins, because they’ve always been fighting their battles together, and it has made them so terribly efficient. “He has! He really must have poisoned her!”

Sehun looks back towards Dahlia. The blood flow has slowed down a little, and she had stopped choking on it as though she had decided that breathing did not matter anymore. Her eyes flicker to him, her lashes coated with her own blood, and there is disbelief in them. Sadness. And then there is nothing anymore. Sehun shuts his eyes. He tries to swallow his sobs, but they’re building up inside his chest and shifting the arrow a little deeper into his flesh.

“I have proof,” Sejun says. “Council members, I have brought you King Alimayu of Marisk and King Amir of Burgh. They will both testify. They have received letters sealed and signed by the Great Prince himself, in which he hints at his refusal to comply with the Alliance’s duty to stand together. Letters in which he says he will not abide by my mother’s new treaty in favour of Frimas.”

Sehun’s breathing hitches in the back of his throat.

_I’d rather everyone think it is your doing,”_ Sejun had said when Sehun asked why he hadn’t taken the royal mail to his own study.

“Stop,” he whimpers. “Please stop.” He presses harder against his side and more blood spurts over his hand. The surge of pain forces a broken sob out of him. “It hurts.”

“He never cared for the traditions,” Sun says. He sounds horrified. Disgusted. He speaks with the weight of his council role behind his words, and it bends the whole room to their meaning.

Yao stands up. Sweat is covering his forehead. “I… Little Prince, I am not sure this is incriminating enough. Great Prince Sehun has been very vocal about his desire to help Frimas during Council meetings. As for you mother…” he hesitates. He never hesitates when it is Sehun he is talking to. “I am sorry, Little Prince, but she died of the aftermath of a terrible, terrible fall.”

“Did she?” Sejun says. “I have proof,” he repeats. “And I will gladly present it to you in the privacy of the Council room, but I demand that my brother is thrown in the donjons in the meantime. He is dangerous, Councilman Yao.”

Yao wavers. Without Dahlia, he is the oldest. It is tradition - _ah_ , Sehun thinks, _irony_ \- that the oldest member of the Council holds the most power when decisions are to be taken without the monarch.

“Do you think it is a coincidence that Lady Jayanti falls terribly sick when my brother visits her?” Sejun says in a honeyed sough. “Is she not the biggest ally my mother had within the Alliance? Is it Fate’s work if, after his return, he starts opposing Councilwoman Dahlia, who was such a close friend of my mother’s? Is _this_ dying of a terrible fall, Lord Yao?!” he asks, gesturing at Dahlia’s body.

Such talent for theatrics. It kills every protest before anyone can even think of protesting. Yao’s face falls when he takes in Dahlia’s body and the blood she is lying in. It is done before anyone actually does anything.

“I can’t… Was it you?” Sehun asks. He takes in his brother. “All of it… was it you, Sejun? Why?” He winces as he slips in his blood while trying to get back on his feet. The pain is strong enough that he gives in, but not loud enough to shut him up. “Why?!” he shouts.

He spits a mix of his blood and saliva on the beautiful, beautiful floor of the common dining room. Damned be the pain and damned be the blood. His little brother, his small brother, looks so tall now that Sehun is on the floor, and the softness of his cheeks is long gone. His eyes are piercing and merciless, calculating and cruel. Damned be the pain, and damned be the blood. Sehun groans as he shifts to try and grab his sword.

“Stop him,” Sejun says. It still is an order, but he does not scream it this time. It is not for the crowd to enjoy, it is for efficiency.

His little procession parts to let a very familiar silhouette walk to Sehun. He is beautiful and terrible, but no one can see it. Well hidden in his long dark yellow coat, Baekhyun moves towards Sehun with grace and inevitability, looking like the hands of the deities themselves. Sehun chokes on his surprise, on his horror, but speeds up his crawling on the floor, trying not to slip on his blood. Baekhyun is unstoppable. Sehun can see the darkness of his eyes, the liquid shadows overflowing his mouth.

“No!” he yells. He stops and rolls on his back. He will not make it. Instead, he wraps his hands around the shaft of the arrow and pulls it out of his body. He screams in agony as he does so, but it soon morphs into anger when he uses his new weapon to try and stab Baekhyun in the leg.

Baekhyun kicks him in the wrist and the arrow flies away. Sehun groans and lifts his legs so he can use them to defend himself against Baekhyun.

It wouldn’t even have worked if he had been healthy.  
Baekhyun swoops down on him like death itself.

“Jongdae,” Sehun says, hoping that it will stop Baekhyun, hoping that it will awaken something in him, like his name never failed to do for Jongdae.

Baekhyun stops right above him. He bares his teeth but Sehun only sees darkness.

“I told you you would be the death of him,” he says, and his voice is like poison.

He puts the heel of his hand against Sehun’s forehead and everything shatters into millions of pieces. His tears burn, his blood burns, the air in his lungs burns, and he wishes he were dead.

Then everything melts into darkness.


End file.
